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"Walking Woolfs" starting on their first walk to the Ozark 

Mountains, showing Mr. Woolf in his poorest 

condition, weighing 107 pounds. 



TRAMPING 

AND 

CAMPING. 



-BY THE— 



'WALKING WOOLFS;' 



PRICE 50 CENTS. 

By Mail, 60 Cents 



Address DWIGHT H. WOOLF, 
929 Minnesota Avenue, Kansas City, Kansas. 



t. I. MESEDAUIL * SOU, PBIHTIIIS, KAIISAS Cri».K««S»f. 



dfis (^ 



HINTS FOR HEALTH. 



Health comes first. 

Get up early. 

Go to bed early. 

Get plenty of fresh air 

Drink plenty of water. 

Exercise daily in the open air. 

Never be in a hurry at meal time. 

It is better not to eat enough than too much. 

Two meals a day are enough for persons employed 
at office work. 

Don't jeopardize your health to make money. 

Wealthy men would give their riches for health. 

Health is easy to lose and hard to gain. 

There is a bright side to life if you look for it. 

If you can't think of something pleasant to talk 
about, be a good listener. 

Don't worry — get back to nature. 

Don't sleep with a closed window. 

Open the window at the top. 

Best Remedies — Fresh Air, Sunshine, Exercise Wa- 
ter. Nature. 

Remember — That the largest amount of your ail- 
ments come from the lack of exercise and fresh air. 






INTRODUCTION. 



The unique experience of Mr. and Mrs. 
Dwight H. Woolf, the champion Long Distance 
Walkers, has awakened general interest through- 
out the United States. 

In 1909, Mr. Woolf's doctor informed him 
that he would have to get out in the open and 
stay there, or he would die. He weighed only 
107 pounds, including clothes, and was growing 
weaker daily. Yet he hesitated about giving 
up his business as a music publisher — his life 
work; and it seemed a little short of madness 
to forego all the luxuries — the so-called "comforts" 
— of civilization. 

But Mrs. Woolf, who was a brave, sensible 
woman, thoroughly devoted to her husband's 
interests, agreed with the physician and suggested 
a walk to the Ozark Mountains. 

That was the beginning of a most remarkable 
series of trips through Missouri, Kansas, Texas, 
Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and up through 
the north Atlantic States to New York and Boston, 
then home to Kansas City — in the aggregate, a 
journey of about 10,300 miles. 

Yet, wherever the couple went there was 
really but one destination — health. 

Mr. Woolf gained strength and, not long after 
starting, was able to make twenty-five or thirty 
miles in a day. Clad in neat khaki uniforms, he 

— 3— 



and his wife — now the leading woman pedestrian 
of the world — marched from city to city, accom- 
panied by Dolly and Don, their faithful horse 
and dog. 

The group was often surrounded by cheering 
crowds, or met by newspaper reporters and escorted 
with honor by delegations of police into the pres- 
ence of mayors and other officials, who received 
the travelers cordially. 

But the "Walking Woolfs" gained something 
far more valuable than honor or fame; and their 
advice to others who have suffered from the 
effects of sedentary work is: 

"When you get into a rut walk out of it." 

He who draws close to nature is rewarded in 
many ways, not the least of which is perfect 
health. 

The object of this book is to preach the doc- 
trine of exercise and fresh air. 

THE PUBLISHER. 



— 4— 



Tramping and Camping 

IN THE 

OZARKS. 



BY STELLA WOOLF. 

« SS REPARATIONS for a walk to the Ozarks 

! w^ I were completed. It had been our in- 
1 w^ \ tention to get up at two o'clock on the 
j •■■ I morning of departure, and start at three 
^.^m^,^^^ o'clock, but rain delayed us until four. 

I fried some eggs and made some cofifee, but 
we ate very little, our appetites being spoiled by 
interest and excitement. 

At last the horse was packed and ready to 
go. About all that we could see of him were his 
ears and tail. He kept stepping around rest- 
lessly, and was inclined to be fractious. While 
he was prancing in the back yard, the load, which 
was top-heavy, fell to the ground, but he stood 
quietly until Dwight and his father unpacked. 

Finding it necessary to reduce the amount of 
baggage, we left one of the cots, the two feather 
pillows and a number of cooking utensils, also a 
portion of the kodak supplies and some of the 
blankets and ammunition. 

As we walked down Tenth Street, Don, our 
dog, posed as if ready to start, but seemed to be 
waiting for an invitation. When we called him, 



he came tearing down the alley after us, wild 
with delight. Many times, during the trip, we 
were glad that we had taken the faithful creature 
with us, for he proved to be not only a protection, 
but a companion, as well. 

The line of march led into Argentine and 
down along the Kaw River, where Dwight stopped 
and purchased a morning paper which contained 
an account of our plans. People on the street 
cars all along Tenth Street craned their necks to 
see out of the windows. Many of them hailed us. 

The first real hill was a stony one and hard to 
climb. It appeared to go straight up in the air, 
and it was covered with rocks as big as a wagon. 
In Rosedale we got a drink at an old-fashioned 
well with a windlass and bucket. Going in a 
southeasterly direction the road was rough. 

Dwight, for whose health we were making 
the journey, was becoming exhausted. The horse 
pulled back, but I got a stick and hit him to com- 
pel him to go. Then Dwight and I exchanged 
places, and he urged the horse forward. 

Out on the Wornall Road the country is 
wonderfully improved with fine homes, golf links 
and everything that wealth can afford. 

It was not long until Dwight was so tired that 
we had to camp. He seemed weak, and looked 
so ill that I feared that the exertion of walking 
and urging the horse along would be more than 
his constitution could stand. 

We halted at a pretty place, where there 
was plenty of green grass and water — out on the 
Dodson car line, not far from Waldo. The pack 
animal was so glad to be relieved of his burden 
that he lay down and rolled. 

Our experience in setting up tents was lim- 
ited, and we got everything wrong at first. The 

— 6— 



ridge pole would not stand up right, but the can- 
vass was supported after a fashion, and gave us 
shelter although both ends were hoisted away 
from the ground. D wight had to lie down and rest 
for a time. Then he got some sticks and started 
a little camp fire. I cooked the dinner, consisting 
of bacon, black coflFee and bread, and we ate like 
a couple of famished "Wolves," which we were. 

From the first meal, eaten in the open air, 
Dwight was a different man. He commenced 
to feel better immediately, and took new interest 
in the outing. 

Motor cars by the dozen passed us all day, and 
many horses became frightened and shied off into 
fences at sight of our outfit. 

It was only eleven o'clock when we camped, 
but we rested until the next morning. Our 
supper was a fine one, with fried eggs, coffee, bacon 
and bread. Dwight loaded his rifle and went up 
the car tracks to shoot at targets. He had on 
a blue jumper and looked like a "rube." Finally 
he stopped shooting to keep Don from running 
away, as the noise frightened the dog. 

Passengers on the Dodson cars threw us the 
Kansas City papers, both morning and evening. 
That night, however, we experienced the first real 
hardships of camping. We turned in, both of 
us on the single cot, one with his head at the foot, 
and the other with head at the other end of the 
cot. We could not even turn over, unless both 
did so at once. It was exceedingly uncomfortable, 
and to make matters worse, a terrible electrical 
storm raged all night. The rain came down in 
sheets and coursed right through the tent under 
the cot. I got a spell of the giggles over the situ- 
ation, and poor Don had no place to lie down. He 
went out of the tent, but the rain drove him back. 



The ground within was one pool of water. Then 
he came to my end of the cot and tried to rake the 
cover down with one paw. He wanted to get in 
the cot, which was already pretty well occupied. 
Dwight tried to sleep, and I think he did a little, 
between the times that he was scolding me for 
giggling and shaking the cot. 

Finally morning dawned, and we got up, stiff 
and sore from having spent the night in a cramped 
position. Dwight said that he felt first rate. 
Breakfast consisted of canned sardines and crackers. 

Packing up, we walked through the little 
town of Waldo, reaching Martin City in the after- 
noon. A woman who saw us and supposed that 
we were gipsies, pulled her children into the house 
for fear that we might steal them. The whole 
town seemed to be full of curiosity about us. 

Beyond the town, we soon struck the mud 
road, which was hard to travel, and we set up the 
tent at the first schoolhouse. It was still driz- 
zling rain, but a great many 'people visited camp. 

We managed to get a good breakfast the 
next morning, as our wood was dry. The farmers 
gave us vegetables and buttermilk. After dinner, 
we packed up again and continued the march. But 
it was so muddy that we simply ploughed along, 
and I often felt tempted to cry, I was so tired and 
my feet were like lead. 

On the other side of Belton, we looked for a 
place to rest but there was mud and water every- 
where. Just as I was becoming discouraged, a 
lady and gentleman called to us from their house, 
and invited us to camp on their farm. We spent 
the evening with them and had a most pleasant 
visit. 

After supper Dwight dressed up like a country- 
man, putting on his blue jumpers, and rode into 

— 8— 



cown on Old Buck, the horse. Buck went slowly 
through the streets, and every few steps Dwight 
hit him with a stick. The loafers at the little 
store commenced to guy the "rube". When 
he had had enough fun with the crowd, Dwight 
sprang down from the horse and removing his 
jumpers showed his walking suit. 

Sleeping on one cot was too uncomfortable, 
so Dwight took the train back to Kansas City and 
returned with what we had left behind. 

Our next stopping place was on a deserted 
farm. The owner had given us permission to help 
ourselves to what vegetables there were in the gar- 
den and we found some lettuce and onions. We 
tried sleeping outside of the tent, but were obliged 
to give it up on account of the heavy dew. Our 
hosts offered a room in their house, but we thanked 
them and declined, since the fresh air was nec- 
essary to Dwight's recovery. 

When I had washed our clothes and dried 
them on the branches of the trees, we continued 
the march, although we both hated to leave the 
beautiful spot where the tent was pitched. 

The people with whom we came in contact 
proved to be pleasant and intelligent. We had no 
difficulty in purchasing supplies as we went along, 
and often, our visitors brought us nice, hot loaves 
of bread or delicacies of some kind. After we 
became accustomed to sleeping out of doors, our 
rest was almost unbroken. 

At Harrisonville, a crowd of men and boys 
gathered around us as we went to the post-offfce. 
They asked all manner of questions. It was 
a very warm afternoon and we must have presented 
a spectacle. Don was so uncomfortable that his 
tongue lolled out. Our camp beyond Harrisonville 

— 9— 



was in a fine location and we had good neighbors, 
as usual. 

Our feet had not yet become hardened to 
walking, and it had been impossible for us to make 
very good time. 

At Garden City, we camped again in a rain, 
but having gotten dry wood under the tent, we 
were enabled to cook a good meal. Buck's feet 
were very sore and his shoes had to be taken off. 
He was re-shod at Garden City, after which he 
seemed to be alright. 

Not far from the town, an old man was very 
anxious to know why we walked instead of taking 
the train to our destination. Dwight explained 
that he was walking for his health. He asked the 
old gentleman if he had been healthy all his 
life. The man replied that he had. Dwight then 
said: 

"Did you stay in the house and watch your 
crops grow, or did you get out in the field and 
make them grow.-*" 

The man acknowledged that he had worked 
in the field Dwight said: 

"I am trying to get health, not by taking life 
easy and waiting for health to come to me, but 
by getting out and living with nature, and helping 
nature to make me well." 

At the next stop, we had a delightful place 
near a stream of water. By adding potatoes, 
onions and strawberries, which we bought of the 
farmers, to our commissary, we enjoyed a fine 
supper. A big rain, that night, soaked the tent 
and bedding. Early in the morning, our new 
neighbors came down with a lantern, and invited 
us to breakfast. We dressed hurriedly in our 
damp clothes and waded through the wet grass to 

— 10— 



the house glad to accept the kind hospitality of 
the people who had been so thoughtful. 

On the outside, the building was not prepos- 
sessing. It was old and weatherbeaten — a frame 
house that had probably contained two rooms at 
first, but had been added to until it was now 
quite good-sized. Inside, it was just as homelike 
as possible, with neat rag carpets on the floors and 
cheerful wall coverings. Our breakfast consisted 
of oatmeal with thick cream ; a big bowl of fresh 
strawberries, home-grown, good country ham, hot 
biscuits and coffee. It was a feast to us. This 
was the second time that we had eaten in a house 
in nine days. After the meal was over, Dwight 
picked some cherries for the lady of the house and 
she made cherry pies for us. 

Early the next morning, we continued our 
journey. The road was stony, and the horse 
almost fell down. About ten o'clock, we camped 
near Creighton and got breakfast. Creighton is 
a quaint, pretty little town. The houses looked 
neat and clean. Some of the people thought we 
were gipsies. 

Out near Hartwell School House we met an 
old man who was inclined to be very confidential. 
He informed us that he had been a widower twice, 
and that he wanted to try matrimony again. He 
gave us an account of his domestic affairs and 
insisted that he could make a woman a good hus- 
band; that he had two hundred acres of land 
and money in the bank. He said, however, that 
he did not want to marry some young girl who 
was after his money, and who would run away 
with someone else when she had gotten all her hus- 
band owned. Dwight promised to do what he 
could to find a suitable wife for the man, when we 
got back to the city. 

—11— 



The following morning we walked six and one- 
half miles before breakfast, but had to stop on 
account of the lameness of the horse. After we 
had gone two miles farther, it commenced to rain 
and we pitched our tent. 

At Clinton we camped near an artesian well 
of sulphur water. Dwight went into town and 
while I was watching the outfit, a large man 
came toward me. He had a rather kindly face, 
but being alone, I felt nervous. He advanced 
slowly and cautiously, and I stepped back into 
the tent and loaded the pistol, all the time keeping 
my eye on the stranger. He sidled up, trying to 
engage me in conversation, and I was just on the 
point of telling him to go away if he wanted to be 
safe, when he drew back the lapel of his coat 
and showed a star. He was a policeman. After 
that, I was not afraid. As soon as he was satisfied 
in regard to whom we were and why we were 
there, he invited us to go down to his house, as 
it was threatening rain. But before Dwight 
returned, another voice called to me. Its owner 
was a nice old gentleman, who said: 

"Daughter, come on up to my house. I've 
come down after you. It looks like it is going to 
rain." 

It developed that his daughter-in-law, whom 
we had met, sent him to ask us to her house. We 
accepted the kind invitation. 

Leaving Clinton at 3:30 in the afternoon, we 
went to Brownington. A couple of young men 
whom we saw told us that there was a man in 
town who would sell a burro, or trade it for a 
horse, but after a fruitless search for the party, 
we decided to keep our faithful Buck, and walked 
on to Osceola and Vista. While in camp at the 
latter place, we were preparing to retire for the 

—12— 



night, when four men came up the hill toward us. 
Don growled, and I was a little afraid, but they 
seemed perfectly friendly, saying that they had 
called out of curiosity. We received many atten- 
tions at the hands of the people in the vicinity. 

Near Collins, we found ourselves in the hill 
country, where there is plenty of sand, rocks and 
black jacks. 

A farmer who lived at no great distance from 
Humansville was very philosophical. He was fully 
satisfied with life, saying that he owned good land, 
and that all he had to do was to put the seed in 
the ground and it would do the rest; that he had 
pure milk and water to drink and clean sweet air 
to breathe; that he enjoyed his night's sleep, and 
that no man could ask for anything more. He 
was undoubtedly the most contented man I had 
ever seen. 

That night the cows were entirely too friendly, 
and kept sniffing around our tent. Don was 
afraid and wanted to crawl up into the cots, every 
time a cow came near the tent. 

The next morning we walked from five until 
ten, and then on account of rain, pitched our tent. 
By this time we had become adepts at setting up 
the tent, and it was done quickly, but none too 
soon, for the storm came very suddenly. Dwight 
cooked dinner inside and the smoke almost ran 
us out. 

When the rain stopped we continued the hike 
until about five-thirty o'clock, then found a 
delightful spot near a clear stream. I washed 
our clothes and hung them on the trees to dry. 
After supper it began to rain in earnest, and 
the creek commenced to rise. Soon it reached 
the ground where the tent was located. We grabbed 
our clothes from the trees, stufiFed things into the 

—13— 



pack-boxes, pulled down the tent, and got Old 
Buck. By the time he was ready to move, the 
water was up to our waists. As we waded out 
and climbed a slippery hill in the dark, my shoes 
came off at the heel whenever I took a step. But 
we did not allow ourselves to become frightened 
nor discouraged, and as this was a real adventure, 
we liked it. However, the next place that we 
selected for the tent was close by the farmer's 
house. The entire family was very kind and 
accommodating. 

On the following day, our walk occupied from 
ten thirty to five o'clock, when we were again 
most fortunate in securing a good site for the camp, 
in the front yard of some friendly people. 

After taking breakfast with the family on 
whose land we had put up for the night, we walked 
to Bolivar, where everyone seemed to have a great 
deal of curiosity in regard to our project. On 
the other side of the town, Dwight went to a farm- 
house to buy some provisions, and the lady gave 
him buttermilk, bread, corn bread and rhubarb, 
and when he asked the price, she said: "Is a 
nickel too much?" She refused to take anything 
for some butter. 

At one house, where Dwight was asked to 
play the violin, the folks furnished him with an 
instrument that could not have cost over a couple 
of dollars when it was new. He played as best 
he could under the circumstances, but saw that 
the music was not appreciated. Finally, it dawned 
upon him that they had been accustomed to such 
music as the Arkansas Traveler and like selections. 
He asked what they would prefer. One fellow 
said that he wanted to hear some of the good old 
tunes — "Turkey in the Straw," or something of 
that kind. 

—14— 



Another rain detained us near Brighton. We 
were just entering the Ozark Mountains, and the 
roads were getting pretty rough, but the scenery 
was beautiful. A portion of our route lay over a 
ridge road, perfectly graded, naturally, but it 
looked artificial. There were great trees on both 
sides, and we could look down hundreds of feet 
into the valleys below. It was an ideal place for 
one who was inclined to be romantic, or for one 
of poetic temperament. At the end of the ridge 
was a clearing. 

We had been talking all day about our wish 
to trade off Old Buck for a burro, or for some animal 
that would answer our purpose better than he 
did. A couple of men came out to the road 
and asked us if we wished to trade the horse for a 
mule. We exchanged glances, and Dwight said: 

"Yes, if you have a mule that you want to 
trade, we will look at him." 

The man who owned the mule accompanied 
Dwight to the pasture, while I stayed at the 
house and talked to the other man and a little 
girl. Finally, the others came back leading a mule. 
We took the pack off from Old Buck and put it 
on the mule, then Dwight led it around the yard, 
then I led the animal to test its gentleness. It 
seemed to carry the pack all right, although it 
was not very graceful about it. 

We talked the matter over, and decided the 
trade was a good one, as we believed the mule was 
sure-footed, and that he would be able to get over 
the mountains more easily than Buck could have 
done. Telling the owner that we would trade 
even, we left Buck behind and started down the 
road with the mule, both of us elated by the 
bargain. After going a few rods, we noticed 
that he had a slip-shod, rocking carriage, something 

—15— 



like that of a camel. He stepped with a sort of for- 
ward, rocking movement, that shook pieces of lug- 
age from the pack, and we commenced to pick up 
various articles, as we walked along behind the ani- 
mal. Dwight stopped at a farm-house to buy some 
eggs, while I stayed in the yard to watch the outfit. 
Hearing a noise, I looked around, and saw the mule 
on the ground with the pack on his back. I 
called to Dwight to hurry, and he came running 
out of the house. We took the pack off, and 
made the mule get up. Don was so excited 
that he ran up to it and grabbed one of its hind 
legs between his paws and hugged it. Notwith- 
standing the calamity, we had to laugh at the 
absurdity of the situation. 

We finally got ready again, and started 
down the road, forgetting, in the confusion, our 
raw-hide whip. After going a short distance, the 
mule lay down again. This time we were certain 
that our trade had been a bad one. Although it 
was early in the afternoon, we concluded to camp 
for the night. Dwight went into a house to ask 
permission to set up the tent in a yard, and I 
walked the mule around in a circle to keep him 
from lying down. After he was relieved of his 
load, we tied him out with a rope. When supper 
was over, we retired early, being tired and thor- 
oughly disgusted. But we had no more than gotten 
to sleep than a loud noise — a thud, as of something 
falling — aroused us. This was followed by a 
distinct groaning. I called Dwight to get up, 
but he answered that he would not; that it was 
that blasted mule again, fallen down and choking 
himself in the rope. I dressed as quickly as possible 
and went outside the tent to where the mule was 
lying, and saw that the rope was wrapped all 
around his head and neck and wound around 

— 16— 




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one of his hind feet. Don was barking like a 
wild dog. Hurrying to the farmer's house, I awak- 
ened the man and told him what had happened, 
asking if he would help us. He secured a lantern 
and went with me to where the mule was, almost 
choked to death. We saved the animal by cutting 
the rope. He jumped up like a shot out of a 
cannon, and we sprang aside to get out of the 
way. The farmer then put the mule in his pas- 
ture and there was no more trouble that night. 

The next morning, bright and early, I went 
down to the pasture and got the mule. I told 
Dwight that I was going to take the creature 
back to the man from whom we had obtained it. 
My husband said that he would not ask the farmer 
to trade back if the mule died on our hands. 
Keeping my face straight, I walked the old mule 
down the road until I came to the place, where 
I saw Old Buck out in the yard. My heart leaped 
for joy to see our horse. I was afraid that I could 
not get him back, but when I explained how the 
mule had behaved, his former owner seemed 
surprised. His wife, however, informed me that 
the animal had lain down in the road when she 
had been riding him. The man said that he would 
trade back if we would pay him a dollar to boot. 

I led Buck to our camp, followed by the 
farmer's little boy riding the mule. Long before 
we arrived I could see that Dwight was looking at 
us with a smile on his face. He was glad enough 
to pay the extra dollar, and we rejoiced over the 
transaction. That was our first and last exper- 
ience with the far-famed Missouri mule. 

Breakfast was eaten with a relish that morn- 
ing, and we then continued the walk toward 
Springfield. We camped on the south side of the 
town, just outside of the city limits. The people 

—17— 



were extremely pleasant. Many of them had read 
of our excursion, and we were the recipients of 
much attention. 

The following morning, as we were walking 
along the road, a man driving a skittish horse 
passed us. We led Buck as far out of the way 
as possible and advised the man to get out of the 
buggy and lead his horse, but he would not pay 
any attention to our advice, and whipped up. 
The horse lunged sidewise and turned the buggy 
over, and started to run away, dragging the driver. 
He finally got loose, but the horse continued to 
run until it came against a telegraph pole, and 
the buggy was demolished. By this time a great 
crowd had collected. An old, gray-headed woman 
commenced to abuse Dwight. We paid no atten- 
tion, as we did not wish to have trouble, although 
the accident was not our fault, for if the man had 
gotten out and led his horse it would have gone 
along quietly. 

We crossed the river near the Riverdale 
mill, but instead of going over a bridge, we took 
off our shoes and stockings, slung them over our 
shoulders and waded to the other shore. Old 
Buck got across all right and marched right on 
down the road until he was out of sight. I followed 
slowly, for the stones in the river bed hurt my 
feet, and I stopped in the middle of the crossing 
and cried. Dwight started to wade out to help 
me, and Don got excited and jumped around 
on the bank and barked like a crazy dog. Dwight 
said that I was a tenderfoot, and could not stand 
anything. 

After a while we caught up with Old Buck 
and camped and had dinner by a spring near 
the roadside. We tried to buy some butter at 
a farm-house, but the people would not sell us 

—18— 



any. Then we got some biscuits, which were 
hard and soggy, but anything goes, when one is 
ravenously hungry. 

The country did not seem to be so prosperous 
as Central and Northern Missouri. Sometimes 
we walked for miles without seeing a house. There 
are many log houses with about two rooms, and 
most of the barns are of logs with thatched roofs. 
Chickens and pigs run loose in the yards. 

It seemed to us that if a more energetic class 
of people would go down into the Ozark region 
aad take up farms, it would be an ideal place to 
live. 

Spokane is a little town with a post-office 
and two or three buildings. We camped for 
dinner in the woods, in a desolate looking spot. 
I went to a new house, supposing that there would 
be a well there. A big red dog jumped on Don 
and commenced to fight him. I tried to separate 
them, and Dwight, hearing the commotion, rushed 
out and threw a stone at the strange dog. He 
had bitten Don badly under one of his front legs. 
An old, snaggled-toothed woman came to the door. 
She was chewing tobacco, and looked at me rather 
curiously. When I asked if I could get a pail of 
water, she directed me to a well down a very steep 
ravine. 

Slipping and sliding, I got down to the place, 
but there was great difficulty and danger of falling 
into the well. The water had to be drawn up 
overhand^ — no easy task. 

One funny thing is that every time we asked 
how far it was to Branson, we received a different 
reply. It would seem that the closer we got to 
the town, the farther we were away. No one 
in this part of the country appeared to have any 
idea of distance. 

—19— 



We stopped for a drink at a house where 
there were two women, a young woman and an 
elderly one. Dwight asked them how far it was 
to Branson, and the young woman said: 

"It's thirty miles from my house to Branson." 

The old woman said: 

"Yes, it's thirty miles from her house to 
Branson, cause I'll tell you how I know — I live 
just a half mile from this lady, and there is a 
traveling man that stops at my house every time 
he goes to Branson, and I've heerd him say many 
a time that it was fifteen miles from my house 
to Branson." 

We camped the next time at the only nice 
looking farm-house that we had seen on the Wild- 
erness Road. The day's walk had almost worn 
us out, but we got a good supper with stewed black- 
berries, boiled potatoes and other things. 

In the morning, we turned off from the Wilder- 
ness Road into the worst kind of a trail imaginable. 
It was enough to upset any wagon. There seemed 
to be nothing but rocks and ruts. Old Buck had 
a hard time. He put one foot down, balanced 
himself, then took another step and in that manner 
succeeded in making some progress. 

There was a most beautiful bit of scenery 
that we viewed from the top of a mountain, and 
we took a snap shot of it. 

Food is high-priced in this locality. The 
fact is probably due to the unsettled condition of 
the country. 

The bad roads proved too much for Old Buck, 
and he lay down for the first time with his pack 
on. But we allowed him a long period of rest at 
the stopping place, and fed him well. 

The road to Branson was part of the time dis- 
tinguishable and part of the time in the bed of a 

—20— 



creek where it could not be seen. To make matters 
worse, the rain commenced to pour down, but we 
kept right on walking. At a fork, we took the 
wrong route, which led us out among the hills. 
Finally we hit the main thoroughfare to the town. 
Within a mile of the place, we asked a man how 
far it was to Branson, and he replied that it was 
about two miles and a half. 

In camp at the edge of the village, we were 
annoyed by hogs running at large. A big one 
grabbed a sack out of our provision box and ran 
away. Dwight chased her all around that part 
of town, throwing stones at her, and she finally 
dropped the sack, which contained our supply of 
pepper. After that, one of us had to stay near 
the tent all of the time to keep hogs and cows 
away. Dwight hurried into town to present a 
letter of introduction from a friend in Kansas City. 
The gentleman to whom the letter was written 
promised to find us a camping spot on the White 
River the next day. 

Branson being our destination, the long 
tramp was now at an end, and we began to look for- 
ward to a month's pleasant camping and fishing. 

That night an army of pigs, little and big, 
grunted and snifiFed around our tent. Don was 
so afraid of them that he wanted to climb up into 
the cots. One day, while going through the 
mountains, Don was chased by a wild razor-backed 
pig, and after that, throughout the journey, the 
dog was afraid of all hogs, and we could not get 
him to chase them away. The only thing he did 
was to stand at a safe distance and bark himself 
hoarse. 

Having secured a camping ground on the 
banks of the White River, and near to town, we 
made ourselves as comfortable as possible, but 

—21— 



both of us were dissatisfied. The spot on which 
our tent was placed was a little knoll 
close by the railroad tracks, and just a few 
rods from a small, two-roomed house in which 
lived a very kind family. The old log house had 
a history, having been built over a hundred years 
ago. Buck was allowed to roam over the town 
at will with the other live stock. Our new neigh- 
bors persuaded us to remain when we thought of 
moving, saying that they would do what they could 
for us. They loaned us a monkey stove with 
which to cook, and they also brought down a table 
and some chairs. 

On the Fourth of July we accompanied our 
friends to a picnic at HoUister, Missouri. It was 
an old-fashioned celebration. We walked across 
the White River bridge to the grounds. A great 
audience had assembled. Everyone was enjoying 
the festivities. There was a merry-go-round 
pushed by a mule, and when the mule got so dizzy 
that he almost fell down, he was replaced by an 
ancient, raw-boned horse, until he, too, was forced 
to retire. 

We had gone to the picnic to see the sights, 
but soon found that we attracted more attention 
than anything else. We stood and watched the 
free-for-all dance that was in progress on a small 
twelve by fourteen feet platform. There was an 
old organ and two fiddles, and the musicians were 
playing hoe-downs in true back-woods style. The 
dancers, with coats off, perspired abundantly. 
The girls had ribbons around their necks and waists, 
and were the picture of hilarity and good nature. 
There was plenty of pop-corn, peanuts, and all the 
accessories of a typical, rural Fourth of July picnic. 
At last, tired of being considered a curiosity, we 
returned to camp and spent the rest of the day 

—22— 



throwing stones into the White River for Don to 
jump in and get. 

The days that followed were very pleasant. 
We bathed and swam in the river and visited 
some people with whom we had become acquainted. 
When we were in the water, Don had to be watch- 
ed to prevent him from jumping in after us and 
scratching our backs. He evidently thought that 
he was keeping us from drowning. One after- 
noon, while swimming, I saw a large snake in 
the water close to me. It frightened me so that 
I started to run out, but the current was so swift, 
it knocked my feet out from under me, and Dwight, 
who was about forty pounds lighter than I was, 
tried to pick me up bodily and carry me to the 
shore. When Don observed what he thought was 
a little fuss, he jumped into the water and tried 
to separate us. 

Staying in one place became monotonous after 
a while, and we decided to get a boat and embark 
on what is considered a dangerous trip. The 
people who take these floats down the river, 
usually hire a guide, but as we were fond of doing 
things that no one else would attempt, we ventured 
alone. I questioned one of the guides in regard to 
handling a boat. He said that many people had 
been drowned in the river while on these trips, 
but that if we thought that we were capable of 
managing a boat, he would be glad to show us 
all that he knew. 

We bought a flat-bottomed boat for two 
dollars, and after the guide had shown Dwight 
how to use the paddle, we got our belongings 
together and started. It was a new life for Don. 
He seemed to understand that he must not jump 
out, although we knew that he longed to do so. 

When we had floated about fifteen miles, we 

—23— 



heard a rumbling sound — a roaring in the water — 
and we thought that it must be caused by the rapids 
which the boat was fast approaching. 

Dwight stood up and looked down the river. 
He could see the water splashing against the rocks 
on one side of the bank. In the middle of the 
river was a willow bar. Where the water divided, 
one side was rough and the other side was smooth. 
We tried to steer into calm water, but there was 
a current that was pulling us directly toward the 
willow bar. If we had run against the bar, we should 
have been drowned as the boat would have upset. 
To avoid this, we were obliged to go into dangerous 
water. I shall never forget how the rapids looked 
as we steadily advanced toward them. The cur- 
rent was so swift that it moved the stones in the 
bottom of the river. It tossed the little boat 
around. At one time it seemed that we should be 
unable to get away from the rock bank, but, making 
a supreme effort, we finally found ourselves in 
smooth water. 

We floated on down the river, fishing, and 
soon caught enough for supper. Don took great 
delight, watching us. Every time Dwight threw 
the line out, the dog jumped at it. He looked 
comical when we reeled in our first big fish, which 
was tied to the boat to make sure that we should 
have at least one good fish supper while on the trip. 
There is much pleasure reeling where one can see 
the fish swimming. We tried several times to land, 
and found, at last, that it was necessary to pick 
out a spot about a quarter of a mile ahead, or 
the current would take us beyond the point. 

There was a gravel bar at some distance 
from us, where we decided to pass the night, pro- 
vided we should be able to make a landing. We 
rowed to the bank, and the current caught the back 

—24— 



of the boat and started us down the stream. We 
were floating away from the landing-place. It was 
necessary to make a landing quickly unless we 
wished to be carried on beyond the bar. We got the 
boat straightened around and looked for another 
camping spot. There was no such thing as going 
back. Soon we saw another desirable place. This 
time we were more careful. As soon as we got to 
the bank, I sprang out and held the boat so that 
it could not get away, then Don jumped out — ^he 
is never far behind — and Dwight tied the boat. 

There was no ground in which to drive the 
pegs to hold the tent. There was nothing but 
a gravel bar. However, we finally succeeded in 
getting the tent up, by using longer stakes. There 
were no farm houses, and no one was within hear- 
ing distance. Plenty of drift-wood was lying 
around, so we had a big campfire. 

Neither of us had ever killed a fish, and we 
drew straws to see which one would perform the 
operation. Dwight always wins, whenever he 
bets on anything against me, so it fell to me to kill 
the fish. When I knew that it was up to me, I 
thought I should prefer to throw the fish back 
in the river, rather than kill it, so Dwight acted 
as executioner, and I prepared for the fry. 
It was not long until our meal was ready, and it 
certainly was very savory. 

When supper was over, we went down and 
set some trout lines to catch fish for breakfast. 
Then, before retiring, we built a great fire to keep 
away the wild animals, as we had been informed 
that the mountains were infested with panthers. 

Bright and early in the morning, Dwight 
looked at the lines and found a big bass and a small 
catfish. In the meantime, I had started the break- 
fast. Dwight detected the odor of the good coffee 

—25— 



before he reached the camp, and we were both 
so hungry that we could hardly wait until the fish 
was ready to cook. 

It was not long until we were again float- 
ing down the river. There had been a light rain 
the night before, and the water had risen. The 
sun was shining brightly. The scenery was con- 
stantly changing. Sometimes there was a moun- 
tain on one side and a valley on the other; then 
matters were reversed. We noticed that water 
was running out between two large rocks on the 
side of a mountain, and thinking that it might be 
one of the springs of which we had been told, 
we endeavored to land, but failed to do so, and 
were carried on. 

There were no bridges, and every once in 
a while we saw people ferrying across the river. 
We tried to make a landing near a ferry, but the 
folks called out not to come close, that there was 
danger from the current, and we should be drawn 
underneath. It was one of the times that Dwight 
had to use his head, and he managed to turn the 
boat and get away without accident. 

It was growing dark, and we landed, with- 
out difficulty. It was too late to look for a bet- 
ter camping spot, so we pitched the tent on wet 
ground, where there were many trees. We had 
trouble fixing the cots so that we should not roll 
off in the night. 

After a breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee, 
we started, early the next morning, toward a 
town named Forsyth. Our supply of provisions 
was running low. The last of the bread had been 
eaten. However, the banks of the river were so 
thickly lined with trees that we passed the town. 
We landed where we saw a path leading up through 
the woods. 

—26— 



I guarded the boat while Dwight set out to 
j5nd something to eat. He walked several miles, 
then at last, up the side of a mountain he found a 
little log hut. He talked to a man whom he saw, 
but received no answer. At last, the man took 
a piece of paper out of his pocket and wrote upon 
it that he was deaf and dumb, but that he would 
get his father to come. 

The old man appeared, but it developed that 
they did not eat yeast bread, and all they had to 
offer was cold biscuit. 

After another long walk, Dwight arrived at 
a house where a nice young girl came to the door 
and asked what was wanted. She sold him food, 
and we loaded the boat and went on our way re- 
joicing. As we pushed from the shore, a man came 
along, and informed us that the dangerous Elbow 
Shoals were not far away. He directed us to go 
to the left. We passed over some shoals successfully 
that day, but had no means of determining whether 
they were the ones referred to. Soon there was 
a terrible rumbling, fully half a mile distant. 
Dwight stood up in the rear of the boat to see 
what course to pursue. We seemed to be at the 
mercy of the current, which was pulling us straight 
into the Elbow Shoals. There was no mistaking 
them this time. The rapids were fearful. They 
rocked the boat from one side to the other, while 
Dwight used all his strength to keep a direct 
course. To lose control at that point would mean 
that we should be dumped into the river. At 
last, we managed to get out. 

It was late in the afternoon, and we camped 
within hearing of the rapids. Getting several 
sacks we manufactured a seine and caught some 
minnows with which to bait our trout lines. Our 

—27— 



nerves had been so shaken that we had very little 
appetite. 

Don had disappeared. We built a j5re, 
and were debating in regard to supper, when the 
dog came up with a rabbit in his mouth. His eyes 
beamed with delight. I persuaded him to let me 
have the animal, and when it was cooked, Don 
was given a liberal share of the game. 

We had been without fish for several days, 
so while the boat floated along the next morning, 
Dwight reeled out his line. I noticed a ferry 
boat with a lot of people — more than we had seen 
in that country before — on board. A man in- 
quired where we were from. Dwight replied: 
"From Kansas City." The stranger then asked if 
we knew that it was against the law to fish in the 
White River. Although he received a negative 
answer, he instructed us to land over on the other 
shore, as we were under arrest. 

In the effort to land, we got hung on 
some rocks in the center of the river, and the 
one who had ordered us to go ashore, a justice of 
the peace and a lawyer, entered a boat and came 
out to where we were. The boat almost capsized, 
but they succeeded in reaching us. One of the 
men kept flashing a big revolver. It seemed as if 
he wanted everyone to know that he had the right 
to carry a gun — that he was the sheriff of that 
county. It certainly looked as if he were rushing 
things, to arrest us, then bring out a justice of the 
peace and a lawyer to conduct the trial. We had 
our trial, were found guilty, and fined fifty dollars, 
for fishing on White Rivei 

The lawyer who came out, tried very hard 
to induce us to fight the case, but as we knew 
that it must be a graft from start to finish, we 

—28— 



did not wish to employ a legal adviser, especially 
one who was in league with the opposite party. 

When the fine had been imposed, Dwight told 
them that he was in love with Arkansas, and 
that he would not object to spending a month in 
jail there, which of course, he would be compelled 
to do on account of not having any money. 

After they saw that they could not work 
us for any money, they wrote out a receipt in full 
for fifty dollars, and said that if anyone else both- 
ered us, we should be allowed to go, upon showing 
the receipt. We learned afterward that these 
people held up everyone who came down the White 
River. 

It was several hours hard work to get the boat 
loosened from the rock. In about an hour a soul- 
racking noise could be heard. It was another 
shoal. Dwight was determined that he would 
go over it properly, and steered as carefully as 
possible. In a minute we were right in the midst 
of the rapids, which covered the entire river for 
about a quarter of a mile. They had been named 
the Tumbling Shoals, and whoever christened them 
certainly knew what he was describing, for they 
did nothing but tumble. Dwight guided the boat 
through without accident. We began to think 
that we were expert in the use of the paddle. 

We had supper at six o'clock in one of the 
finest locations for a camp that we had yet seen. 
Dwight took a picture of two men on a large raft, 
which was floating down the river. 

We had now gone two hundred miles, but 
one of the most dangerous rapids was to come. 
We could not exactly remember what had been 
told us in regard to it — whether it was in Missouri 
or Arkansas. The river, in its windings, flows from 

—29— 



one state to the other several times in two hundred 
and fifty miles. 

Finally we came to the McGar Shoals. The 
rumbling and roaring were terrific. It was dif- 
ficult to decide which way to go, for the entire 
surface of the water looked bad. For the first 
time during the trip, I was really frightened. We 
steered the boat straight into a hole that seemed 
big enough to swallow us. I screamed, as a great 
wave hit me in the face and went over Don, the 
whole length of the boat, to Dwight, dashing 
against him and filling the boat half full of water. 
After that, I was too busy dipping water to notice 
much more about the shoals. It was a relief to 
both of us when, at last, we had passed through 
the worst of them. 

Again and again, we tried to effect a landing, 
but failed. At one place there were a lot of people 
on the bank watching us. We suppose that there 
must have been a town in the vicinity. When it 
grew" dark, we almost gave up, thinking that we 
should have to float all night. All at once, as we 
were drifting along, the water seemed to go out of 
sight. Of course. I knew that it was impossible 
for the river to stop; it had to go somewhere, 
but as far as we could see, it ended. 

A quarter of a mile farther on, Dwight found 
himself suddenly battling with the wildest rapids 
that we had yet encountered. A large tree 
had fallen over into the water, and the current 
was taking us directly into this tree. A man on 
the bank saw our danger, and called to us: 

•Paddle to the right! Paddle to the right!" 

This we did with all the energ%' we possessed. 
I tried to help with a little paddle, but not under- 
standing how to work it, I took the wrong side, 
and if there had been any strength in my paddling, 

—30— 



I should have thrown the boat straight into the 
tree. As it was, Dwight's paddle was so much 
heavier than mine that he got the boat out of 
danger. 

We spent a very restless night on a gravel 
bar near the shoals. In the middle of the night, 
we were awakened by a noise that sounded like 
a woman's scream. Believing that it was the 
dreaded panthers of which we had heard so much, 
we arose and built a big fire. The moon was 
shining brightly, and there was no trouble in 
locating a great pile of drift-wood. Sitting near 
the immense blaze, that reached high toward the 
sky, we again heard the fearful cry. It made 
the cold shivers creep down our spines, but we 
braved it out. I felt more safe when, in the 
morning, breakfast was eaten and the boat launch- 
ed. 

It was the last day of our floating trip. The 
shoals were nothing to compare with those already 
passed. Dinner was cooked on a little island in 
the middle of the river. 

Late in the afternoon, when we had almost 
given up reaching Cotter, Arkansas, that night, 
some smoke stacks loomed up ahead, presumably 
our destination. Then a voice behind us called: 

"Better get that old scow out of our way, or 
we'll run over it!" 

Turning around we were delighted to see the 
smiling faces of Mr. Callison, the guide, and his 
tourists. He invited us to camp with him and 
his party that night. Willing hands helped us 
ashore. The evening was spent around an im- 
mense campfire on the beach. The night air was 
so cool that we had to wrap ourselves in bed- 
quilts, although it was only the latter part of 
July. Our friends gave us credit for having nerve, 

—31— 



as we had made a dangerous trip alone — a hard 
thing for inexperienced people to do. The guide 
remarked that I could not have valued my life 
very highly, or I should not have started out as 
I did. They could not know what confidence 
I had in my cool-headed husband. Although he 
was entirely without practice as a boatman, it 
required only the real necessity for nerve and 
prompt action to teach him how to manage a 
boat. 

Our vacation trip was over, and after spend- 
ing a few pleasant days at Cotter and in the vicinity 
of the town, where we made many friends, we took 
the train back to Kansas City. 




—32— 







ca 



m .2 

a 
ca ^ 

O — ' 



CI « 



Tramping and Camping 

FROM 

Kansas City to New YorL 



BY STELLA WOOLF. 

^""■'"■^'^N Monday morning, May 2nd, 1910, we 
j ^g'\ I began our two thousand mile walk to 
I B ■ I New York. A journey on foot from the 
I ^-^ I central part of the United States to the 
3(;._,..»<^ Atlantic Coast is a very different thing, 
in many respects, from a trip to the Ozarks — 
which constituted our last venture. But Dwight's 
health had shown such marked improvement from 
the exercise, fresh air and wholesome country 
food, that we determined to live in the open as 
much as possible, until there would be no dan- 
ger of relapse. 

Heretofore we had carried our camping out- 
fit on a pack horse, but this time we invested in a 
horse and cart, which enabled us to lay in a larger 
amount of the necessities of life than we had done 
on former occasions. The cart consisted of a 
box built on two wheels, and bore the inscription, 
"Walking from Kansas City to New York." In 
the front portion of the box were two compart- 
ments; one for kodak supplies, and the other for 
clothes. In the back were four compartments, in 
one of which we placed our folding cots, stools 

—33— 



and shoes, using the opposite lower space for 
cooking utensils. The two upper compartments 
contained provisions. 

On the trip to the Ozarks we were obliged to 
set our dishes upon the ground, so this year we decid- 
ed to manufacture a table. Dwight made a flap to 
the back end of the cart, hung on hinges, and put 
swinging legs on it. When ready to eat our meals 
we could let this down, and it formed a perfectly 
level and a very convenient table. 

We needed a stove and had no room to carry 
one, so we had a substitute built to order by a 
plumber. It was composed of a framework of gas 
pipe, and was about one foot by two feet in size. 
The folding legs could be doubled under. We robbed 
our Home Comfort range of the upper grate be- 
longing to the oven, and considered ourselves 
well fixed for a stove that was easy to carry. All 
that we had to do was to build a camp fire under 
the frame, set the grate over it, and put on the 
food to cook, and the results were as good as if 
prepared over the finest stove in the world. We 
could cook a meal fit for a king, and sit right down 
to a table just as if we were at home, except 
that everything tasted a hundred per cent better 
than if it had been eaten at home. Out of door 
living gave us hearty appetites, and no matter 
what we ate, it seemed delicious. And at almost 
every camping spot, nature's dining hall was far 
more attractive than the most beautiful room 
in any hotel or private residence. 

All of our camping outfit — the tent poles, 
kodak apparatus, stove, cots, stools — fold up. 

It had been our intention to start very early 
in the morning, but a heavy rain the night before 
delayed us several hours, and we did not set out 
until about eight o'clock, walking down Min- 

—34— 



nesota Avenue, crossing the Inter-city Viaduct 
and going down Sixth Street, where some ingenuity 
was required in order to dodge the heavy transfer 
wagons and other cumbersome vehicles. At this 
point it was evident that the wheels of our cart 
would not be strong enough to stand the wear and 
tear of travel, therefore we exchanged them, at 
the next blacksmith shop, for a heavier pair 

During the process a crowd, curious and anxious 
to know about the proposed walk, gathered around 
us. At one o'clock we continued the march, but 
neither of us was used to our new horse "Dolly," 
which we had bought expressly for this journey. 
Dolly had a mind of her own, and taking it into 
her head to go outside of the road to help herself 
to some grass, she lodged the cart in a bad mud-hole 
and no amount of persuasion would induce 
her to budge when we tried to lead her out. It 
was impossible to push the wheels, and everything, 
including our clothing, became spattered with 
mud, but Dolly still held her own. 

Just then an old farmer came along and asked 
what the matter was. He said: 

"I guess you don't understand horses very 
well," and taking hold of her bridle led her back 
to the road without a particle of trouble. This 
experience afforded us a great deal of fun, gibing 
each other about not knowing how to lead a horse 
out of a mud hole. 

When people get close to nature — it matters 
not whether the sky above them is blue or gray — 
their spirits rise and the smallest circumstances fur- 
nish material for lively interchange of thought. 

At four o'clock we reached Independence, 
Missouri. The newspapers had said so much 
about our starting on foot for New York that inter- 

—35— 



ested throngs pressed around us on the streets and 
asked all manner of questions. 

Three miles beyond Independence we camped 
near a farm-house. The weather had turned 
colder, and a drizzling rain had set in. After 
cooking supper, we retired early, somewhat ex- 
hausted, owing to the fact that we were not yet 
hardened to long tramps. 

The next morning was cold and rainy, and 
although four o 'clock was supposed to be schedule 
time for beginning the march, we waited until 
six o'clock. Our plan was to walk until eleven, 
then stop and get breakfast, but we found it better, 
after a thorough trial, to take the time to prepare 
breakfast before starting. 

On this particular morning, however, we did 
eight miles, then camped in a pleasant place and 
cooked the morning meal. As we passed along 
the road, a man, woman and young girl came down 
to their gate and spoke to us, inquiring about our 
trip. It seems that they had read in the papers 
about us, but they had not thought of our taking 
the direction of the thoroughfare in front of their 
home. They gave us permission to camp on their 
land, and we bought fresh eggs for breakfast, and 
some corn for Dolly. 

My feet had become very sore, after walking 
only a day and a half, so I rested for a couple of 
hours, while Dwight painted the new wheels. We 
sat in the sunshine, talked over plans for the trip, 
and visited with the kindly farmers who passed 
by. Our new friends sent us a plate of corn bread 
and a pitcher of freshly churned buttermilk, which 
we accepted and devoured. 

Buckner was the next village on the way to 
the crossing on the Missouri River at Lexington. We 
bought some provisions and camped for the night 

—36— 



by the roadside a short distance outside of the 
town. After supper, we chained Dolly to the cart 
that she might not be borrowed in the night. 

The journey was continued early the following 
morning, and walking through the town of Levasy 
we came to Napolean, a small place where the 
people stared at us. Some even ventured to ask 
if we were a traveling show. 

A cold wind was blowing, and we went on to 
a little grove near a fine spring, and had break- 
fast. While sitting at our table, we noticed coming 
down the road an old man, bent and feeble. He 
was carrying a budget slung on a stick across his 
back. He stopped and called to us. Not being 
able to understand him, Dwight motioned him 
to come to us. He did so, and asked for a cup of 
coffee, saying that he was an old soldier, and 
had walked all the way from Kansas City. It 
seems that he was going to live with a married 
son at some place in Missouri; that he had been 
told by the daughter with whom he had been 
staying in Kansas City that there was no longer 
room for him. Attempting to cheer him, we gave 
him food. He put it in his pocket, and tottered 
slowly onward over the ties, his budget, though not 
large, appearing to be too much of a load for him. 
He turned, as he was almost out of sight, and 
waved his red bandanna handkerchief. That was 
the last which we saw of the poor, unfortunate, 
old man. 

The river was now only a stone's throw away, 
but the crossing at Lexington was about fourteen 
miles distant. My feet had become so sore that 
walking was a very painful thing. However, we 
made about ten miles that afternoon, reaching 
Wellington at four o'clock. We had now gotten 
into a rough country— a coal mining district, lying 

—37— 



along the Missouri River. Our tent was pitched 
that night beside a church, and not far from a 
store, and a good well of water. 

Arriving at Lexington, we started in a down- 
pour of rain for the ferry, a mile and a quarter from 
the center of the town. However, the storm pre- 
vented our carrying out the plan of crossing at 
Lexington, and we camped near the Missouri 
Pacific railroad. All kinds of tough men were 
tramping back and forth along the tracks. A 
poor family of miners lived in an old deserted house- 
boat near us, and showed us great kindness, al- 
though we felt some hesitancy about accepting 
favors from such uncleanly people. They came 
to our camp to visit, loaning us a lantern and assur- 
ing us that there was no danger. The wood was 
all wet, and we retired that night without supper. 

Dolly was tied to the cart in front of the 
tent, and with a revolver within reach, we tried 
to close our eyes in sleep. But the night was in- 
tensely dark, and we feared an attack by someone, 
which made sleep impossible. The ground around 
us was a vast mud-hole. Dolly was cold and rest- 
less, and stamped about in the slush. Every time 
a train roared by, she lunged and jerked the cart. 
Even the ground under the tent was soaked so 
that poor Don, our faithful dog, had no place to 
lie down. He begged so hard to be allowed to 
get up into our cots, that we finally permitted him 
to do so, muddy as he was. 

When morning dawned, Dwight arose and 
took Dolly back into the town and bought her a 
rubber blanket and some oats. He also had her 
sharp shod, in order that she might be able to 
pull her load up the slippery hills. It was still 
drizzling, and we decided to change the route, and 

—38— 



go by way of Higginsville, and the Glasgow 
crossing. 

It rained almost continually for the next two 
or three days, compelling us to remain in camp, 
and content ourselves with cold meals. I became 
tired of staying in bed, and on the third day of 
the storm I went outside of the tent, determined 
to catch a ride to town, and buy some provisions 
that could be prepared without fire. As I 
stood in the rain, a man and woman in a buggy 
came along the road, and I ventured to ask them 
to purchase some bread and sardines for us, which 
they agreed to do. I gave them a dollar, and 
late in the afternoon they returned and stopped 
beside our camp, giving me the provisions for 
which I had sent. They laughed and asked me 
how I came to trust total strangers with the money, 
saying that they might have taken another road 
and gone home. I told them that I was not at 
all afraid of anything of that kind when I looked 
into their faces and saw their honest expression. 
They were extremely pleasant and invited us to 
stop and see them when we continued our journey. 

I took Dwight's coat — the only one he had 
with him — and asked permission at the farm-house 
to dry it. Dolly was already in the stable, and 
I was invited into the dining-room, where I dried 
the coat by the fire, my hostess chatting cordially, 
the while. 

When I returned to the camp, Dwight got up 
and cooked supper. It was the first hot meal that 
we had been able to prepare for several days. In 
the evening we were invited to the house. Al- 
though we appreciated the kind ofi"er of the use 
of the farmer's stove, we really had no need of it, 
and were very comfortable. 

After all, one's happiness does not depend on 

—39— 



outward conditions. We are never so uncomfortable 
but that we might be more so, and there are always 
redeeming features in any situation, if we only look 
for them. 

The following morning was clear and pleasant. 
We had plenty of company all day, the neighbors 
coming to see us while we dried the clothes and 
bedding. The time was spent writing letters and 
washing our muddy clothing and basking in the 
sunshine. We accepted an invitation from the 
young man at the nearest house to take supper 
with his family, and passed a most enjoyable 
evening. The hospitality and goodfellowship of 
the people in the neighborhood made us feel quite at 
home. 

That night, Dolly was tied to the cart in order 
to get an early start before daylight. Something 
frightened her in the darkness, and she pulled the 
cart over an embankment. She lunged about and 
snorted, and Dwight had some trouble getting 
down to her and loosening her from the cart. At 
dawn, we learned that she had hurt her hough and 
bent the axle of the cart. Otherwise, everything 
was all right, although shaken up. 

Our progress that day was rather slow, on 
account of my feet becoming so tender. At Mar- 
shall, a druggist gave me a preparation that afforded 
great relief, so that I had no further difficulty — 
particularly after I had discarded narrow shoes 
and confiscated a pair of Dwight's, which were of 
a broad, bull-dog last. With these shoes I walked 
the entire distance to New York. My husband 
had much fun at my expense on the way, insisting 
that I had been trying to put a Number Seven 
foot inside of a Number Four shoe. 

Through Gilliam and Slater to Glasgow, there 
was very little excitement, except that a big gray 

—40— 



cat chased Don out beyond our camp and tried 
to run him up a tree. The owners said that she had 
been treed, at one time, and that since then she 
had waged incessant war against dogs. 

We walked in a drizzling rain through the 
river bottoms, a desolate country, deserted because 
of the floods. Disheartened farmers had left 
houses and other improvements. The ferry was 
not running, as the day was Sunday, so another 
long wait in the rain stretched out before us, but 
after we had retraced our steps to a good farm- 
house, we pitched the tent. The farmer visited us 
and cordially invited us to his home. The kind- 
ness and friendliness with which the people along 
the route treated us will always remain a pleasant 
memory. 

Glasgow is a small, but live town, on a high 
bluff. It was a relief to get out of the sandy bot- 
tom lands. At Roanoke we weighed the outfit. 
Dolly weighed one thousand pounds, and the cart 
about eight hundred and fifty pounds, while Dwight 
tipped the beam at one hundred and seventeen 
pounds and I at one hundred and ninety-one; Don 
weighed fifty-two pounds. 

Near Huntsville, we camped not far from an 
old, picturesque mill, on a deep, swift stream. It 
was a historic spot. The water wheel for the 
mill was among the first freight shipped over the 
Wabash railroad. 

In the village of Kimberly, our camping ground 
was close to a church in a beautiful location, al- 
though in a coal mining community. While 
Dwight took a sack and went to buy some corn for 
Dolly, I undertook to carry water for her to drink. 

As I walked down the road a wagon passed, 
I could not see the occupants very well, but a 

—41— 



voice addressed me, saying, as the wagon rattled 
by: 

"Where are you people traveling?" 

I replied, innocently, but emphatically: 

"We^are walking from Kansas City to New 
York." 

The same voice rang out laughingly: 

"Do you think you will ever get there?" 

I called back: 

"Yes, I think we will," and in reply I heard 
peal after peal of laughter, and then I began to 
come to myself — it was my husband, riding down 
the road in the wagon, and he thought it a good 
chance to play a joke on me. 

We prepared with great care for our arrival 
in Moberly, which came into view at about ten 
o'clock. Our tent and quilts were placed in a 
neat pack on the top of the cart, which had been 
washed all over, so that the inscription, "Walking 
from Kansas City to New York," would show 
clearly. Our clothing had been changed, and we 
made a neat appearance, and it was not in vain, 
for our reception was by far the nicest yet exper- 
ienced along the route. The population of the 
town was curious, but kindly. 

The roads in this part of the country were 
very badly taken care of, and there were great 
ruts and sink holes. Not far from Hannibal, we 
tramped through the mud all day, and were tired, 
having lost our way. Dwight was refused per- 
mission to camp near a farm-house where he had 
stopped. As he emerged from the place — I had 
dropped behind the cart — he said loudly enough to 
be heard by the people : 

"Come on, those people are not even human." 
They had said that they did not want "camp- 
ers" on their place. However, we encountered very 

—42— 



few persons who were so selfish. From Hannibal 
we were ferried across the Mississippi River, and 
camped on the Illinois side. 

It has been said that the farther one goes east 
the more inhospitable and unfriendly people 
become, but we did not find that to be the case. 
The proprietor of the leading hotel at Barry, Illi 
nois, entertained us at dinner, and referred us to 
one of the richest farmers in the vicinity, for a 
pleasant camping spot. 

Through Missouri and Illinois, we noticed 
some peculiar expressions. Many persons accosted 
us with the remark: 

"You're takin' a pritty long gant (jaunt) ain't 
ye?" and when we walked rather fast they often 
said: 

"You're goin' at a pritty good hickory." In 
Illinois and Indiana, they said: 

"You're takin' a pritty long hike, by Jingoes!" 
In Ohio it was simply, "a long walk," and in New 
York, it was "a long journey," — "Ain't you'se 
tired yit?" As we entered a small town in New 
York, a small boy came running up to us, saying: 

"Did you'se fetch de dog all de ways wid yus?" 

At Valley City, Illinois, we were ferried across 
the Illinois River. It was very rough and wide and 
reminded us of our White River trip in the Ozarks. 
On the other side we got on the wrong road and 
into soggy ground blocked with logs and under- 
brush. In the search for the right road we came 
across some men sorting clam shells. This indus- 
try is widely followed along the banks of the Illinois, 
and often valuable pearls are found. The fisheries 
were quite extensive at this point. One fisherman 
told us that he had caught a fish — the day before — 
weighing one hundred pounds, but we let this im- 

—43— 



formation go in one ear and out of the other, as 
a "fish story." 

On Decoration Day, passing down one of the 
most beautiful streets that I ever saw, we walked 
into Jacksonville, a very nice city. The trees over- 
lapped above the streets, making a perfect bower 
all along the way. 

At Springfield, which we reached on June 1st, 
a great crowd gathered. While we were talking, 
a fat, short little Jew came running up to us all out 
of breath, and said: 

"Come right over to my restaurant and eat. 
You're perfectly welcome to anything I've got." 

It was plain that his game was to draw the 
crowd to his restaurant, so we thanked him saying 
that we might call around when we got hungry, 
but we did not get hungry while near his place. 

Leaving the city, a young man and woman on 
horseback accompanied us all the afternoon, show- 
ing great interest in our trip, and taking supper 
with us. The following day they again met us and 
dined in our company. 

On the other side of Hume, Illinois, a farmer 
was plowing his field. When asked for permission 
to camp on his ground, he hesitated for a minute, 
evidently thinking that we wanted accommoda- 
tions in his house, and said that he had a large 
family, but when he learned that only a nice spot 
for camping was desired, he led us to his orchard. 
Going to the house for a pail of water, I saw little 
ones ranging all the way from a five-month's old 
baby to thirteen years. The mother said that she 
was thirty-five years of age, the father forty. They 
said that they had never had any sickness to speak 
of, in the family, and that the children caused very 
little trouble; that they looked after one another. 
The mother did all of her own work, with the assist- 

._44_ 







O +3 0» 



pq 



W 






^ O ^ 



- a 






ance of her older children, and she informed me 
that she never missed going to church on Sunday — 
twice. We thought this a model "Roosevelt" 
family, and noted the happiness and harmony in 
the home. 

On June 10th, we entered Indiana, near Dana. 
The Wabash River crossing was at Montezuma. 
Reaching Indianapolis, on June 14th, we felt that 
a considerable portion of the journey had now been 
accomplished. Our camp was in a suburb. At 
Indianapolis the National Pike begins. It is a 
public thoroughfare from Washington, D. C, to 
vSt. Louis. The road led us to Columbus, Ohio. 
The weather was now very hot and the dust whirled 
into our faces when automobiles passed. There 
were thousands of them. 

The birth-place of James Whitcomb Riley, 
the poet, is located at Greenfield. We also saw 
"the Old Swimmin' Hole," which delighted his 
boyhood days. 

Just before entering Richmond, Indiana, we 
were accosted by a farmer: 

"Walking to New York, eh? Well, it's about 
time to camp for the night, isn't it?" 

Receiving an affirmative reply he said : 

"Well, drive right into my yard, I always keep 
all the walkers that come down the pike." 

It seems that he had really kept all pedestrians 
that had passed his place, whether they had money 
or not, and that he did not want to miss any of 
them. 

At Cambridge City, Indiana, tickets to a ball 
game were presented us, and the game was inter- 
esting in the extreme. 

At Richmond, we visited Barlham College, 
where I had attended school years before. I 
viewed the old college buildings and grounds, 

—45— 



noted the few improvements, but saw only one 
familiar face, that of a former professor. 

We now entered the state that was "differ- 
ent," — which is named Ohio. Here our treatment 
was varied. This of course did not apply to Ohio 
exclusively, as the same might be said in some 
degree of all states, but the difference of opinion 
was most noticeable in Ohio. In some sections the 
people were friendly, and in other places, un- 
friendly. Sometimes almost everyone whom we 
met spoke to us, and at other times persons would 
hardly condescend to answer a question. 

In one of the neighborhoods where pedestrians 
were regarded with suspicion, Dwight remarked 
that he would like to find a nice place to camp, and 
the farmer — at whose clover field we were looking — 
replied that three miles up the road there was a 
school-house where all the gipsies camped. A 
woman, asked if she would be kind enough to allow 
us to camp upon her ground, replied: 

"We don't own this farm, are only renting, 
and have no right to let you stay." 

That night we tried six times to camp and 
were turned away six times. An old man, sitting 
in his front yard with his daughter, piled insult 
upon insult, saying, with a sarcastic grin on his face : 

"Why don't you get a railroad ticket? What 
do you want to go through the country like this for ? 
Why don't you ride on the cart?" and a dozen other 
ignorant and insulting things. 

At the next place was a man who had just 
moved into Ohio, and he permitted us to camp at 
his place. 

Just west of Elyria, Ohio, were a man and a 
woman walking to the Northeastern part of Penn- 
sylvania. Upon reaching the town, we were sur- 
prised to learn that the humane officers had ar- 

—46— 



rested the man and put him in jail for walking the 
woman across the country, as they claimed that 
she was physically unable to endure such a trip. 

After that, every time we met a policeman 
Dwight dodged, for fear, he said, that I would be 
arrested for walking him across the country. 

We met many queer characters. Perhaps we 
looked as funny to them as they did to us. One 
day when a cold rain was falling, a man rode up 
on a bicycle. Dismounting, he gazed curiously at 
us and read aloud the sign on our wagon. 

"Well, he remarked, "you've got quite a hike 
before you." 

"Yes," answered Dwight, "and also behind us." 

About this time the man's partner came up, 
and he too dismounted and leaned heavily against 
his wheel. 

Dwight said : 

"What kind of a trip are you on?" 

The first man replied: 

"Oh, we're on a pleasure trip!" 

But the expression on the face of his compan- 
ion showed disapproval. 

Dwight then asked : 

"Where do you stay nights?" 

Before his comrade had time to answer, the 
man in the rear said : 

"Oh, we hit the barns!" 

The laughable part of the whole incident was 
that the fellow who rode up first was trying to 
make the best of a bad job, and the other man was 
so thoroughly disgusted with the pleasure end 
of it that he was ready to do anything to discredit 
it. The last that we saw of the pair, they were still 
riding tandem, the one in the rear being too tired 
and disgusted to even attempt to keep up with his 
more cheerful partner. Whatever we do in this 

—47— 



life, everything depends on the point of view. 
Those who look on the bright side, always have 
pleasant experiences to relate. People who are 
given to telling hard luck stories usually have 
plenty of hard luck stories to tell. 

At Cleveland, Ohio, we camped on the Rocky 
River in a very picturesque spot. The next morn- 
ing Dolly was missing. Supposing that she had 
pulled her stake and strayed a short distance away, 
we were not worried. But a thorough search in 
the vicinity was unsuccessful, and it was two dis- 
heartened beings that finally came upon her late 
in the afternoon, eight miles out in the country. 
She was tied up in a barn near our camping place 
of the day before. 

On July 11th, two red automobiles approached 
us and a gentleman introduced himself as Mr. John 
Abernathy, of Oklahoma. He had with him his 
two small sons, who had made the long horse-back 
ride from Oklahoma to New York to meet Colonel 
Roosevelt on his return from Africa. They were 
returning from New York, preferring automobiles 
for the journey home. We talked to them for some 
time, took their pictures, and secured their auto- 
graphs. 

On the same day, we reached Painesville, 
Ohio, late in the afternoon, and having walked the 
allotted number of miles for the day, decided to 
camp at the first inviting spot. As we passed a 
beautiul summer home, two gentlemen and two 
ladies came toward us from the yard. They said 
that they had read about our trip and they were 
very much interested in us. They said that they 
were show people, and consequently they knew the 
world pretty well, themselves. We accepted their 
invitation to camp on their lawn that night. They 

—48— 







& .^ 



CI] 



pq 






prepared supper for us, and our evening with them 
was a most delightful one. 

At Ashtabula, Lake Erie could be seen, for the 
first time. It made a great impression on us, as it 
was the only large body of water that we had ever 
seen. We walked along the shore, within a stone's 
throw of the lake, for miles and miles, enjoying the 
breeze and the constantly varying color of the 
water, as it changed from blue to pale green and 
gold, with every movement of the waves. 

While camping in a rather unfriendly neigh- 
borhood in Pennsylvania, I tried to rent or borrow 
a wash-tub. It was an absolute necessity that I 
do our washing, or I should not have asked such 
a favor of the farmer's wife. 

She looked me over suspiciously, and said: 

"Are you right sure you will be here in the 
morning?" She evidently thought that we would 
pack up in the night and run away with her tub. 

On July 16th we entered the state of New 
York. At Westfield there was a band of gipsies, 
the toughest looking outfit yet encountered. 
There were several covered wagons, painted red, 
and with poor old skinny horses hitched to them. 
Tramping beside the wagons were three men lead- 
ing big brown bears. An almost endless number 
of old women and children tagged along behind 
the wagons, leading a lot of monkeys. Our horse, 
Dolly, became almost uncontrollable with fright, 
and for several miles after we had passed the out- 
fit, she kept sniffing at the ground, evidently de- 
tecting the odor of the bears from the tracks left 
by their feet upon the ground. 

When we were several days' walk west of 
Buffalo, a man and a woman in an automobile 
drove up beside us and stopped. They seemed to 
be very much interested in us and our mode of 

—49— 



travel, calling it unique. ^fiUpon arriving at Buf- 
falo a few days later, we were met by them and 
taken to their home, where they entertained us 
royally. An automobile ride all over the city 
was one of the attentions we received at their hands. 
We left our dog, horse and cart at Buffalo and 
went to Niagara Falls by train, spending a day 
there, viewing the most wonderful sights we had 
ever beheld. 

Early one morning we arrived at Dunkirk, 
New York. A large, nice-looking, well-dressed 
gentleman came up beside the cart, saying: 

"What have you in there? An elephant?" 

Dwight made no answer, as he was accustomed 
to the remarks of all kinds of people. Seeing that 
no notice was paid to him, the man said again, 
loudly enough to be heard by everyone around 
us: 

"Have you got an elephant in there?" 

At this, Dwight turned and looked at him, and 
said in an indifferent tone of voice : 

"You are standing over there on the sidewalk, 
aren't you?" To which the man replied: "Yes, 
I am." "Well, then," said Dwight, "the elephant 
is out." "You think you're pretty darned smart," 
said the big man, as he walked away. 

Late one Sunday evening, while passing 
through the town of Bergen, New York, we were 
tired after a long day's walk, and decided to dine 
at a hotel. Dwight asked the proprietor if he was 
prepared to serve a meal, and received a negative 
answer. He evidently thought that we had no 
money to pay for it. We disliked to be misunder- 
stood by such ignorant people, but like many other 
rural folks, they had never been away from home, 
and our queer outfit was more than they could 
comprehend. It was another unfriendly settle- 

—50— 



ment. We found a fine camping spot, but had 
no bread, and asked a woman sitting on the front 
porch of a farm-house if she would sell us some. 

"I will see if I have some," she said. 

But her husband, who had overheard a part 
of what had been said, yet not enough to know 
that we wished to buy, not beg, spoke out loudly: 

"We have no bread to give away." 

One day, as we followed the road, which wound 
pleasantly through green fields, we met a man and 
a woman in a buggy. It was not difficult to see by 
the expression on their faces that we had at once 
become objects of pity. The man said: 

"Now, you folks are having to walk from 
Kansas City to New York! That's too bad! 
Couldn't you have bought a railroad ticket for 
pretty near what it is going to cost you to walk 
through?" 

Whenever we met anyone like this, we always 
had some fun. Dwight replied to the man : 

"Now, I'll tell you how it is. You see, we 
have a sick cousin in New York, and we have to 
walk so as to get there and see him before he dies. 
You can readily see that we couldn't afford to buy 
a railroad ticket, because it would cost at least a 
hundred dollars to go from Kansas City to New 
York by rail, and all it costs us to walk is the ex- 
pense of buying a horse and outfit, and living 
for three months and a half, and you know that 
isn't much." 

By this time the man in the buggy awakened 
and said : 

"Oh, I bet you are makinga whole lot of money 
by doing this." 

"No, I am doing it for my health," replied 
Dwight, but even then the man wouldn't believe 
it. 

—51— 



At Canistota, New York, we camped on the 
outskirts of the town, one Sunday evening. After 
the tent was put up and our supper was started, 
we noticed that we had about forty visitors, but 
we were hungry and went right on cooking. Soon, 
an aristocratic, middle-aged gentleman drove up 
in an automobile, and remarked: 

"I passed you this morning, and wondered 
what you were doing, and when I saw you here 
tonight, I just thought I would stop and see you. 
I see you're walking from Kansas City to New 
York. It's no business of mine, but if you don't 
mind telling me, are you walking because you 
have to, or just for fun?" 

Dwight worked the sick cousin story on him, 
but he was too wise, and saw through it at once, 
saying laughingly: 

"You people are all right. I glory in your 
spunk. I see you're getting supper. I'd like to 
stay and eat with you." 

We were both surprised, but Dwight was game, 
and said: 

"If you're in earnest, you're welcome to dine 
with us." 

The gentleman, who turned out to be the own- 
er of a large chair factory at Oneida, New York, 
said : 

"Certainly, I'm in earnest. Put on more 
coffee and everything. I want to eat with you." 

When supper was ready, Dwight put a board 
across a camp stool, and our guest sat on one end 
of it and I on the other, neither daring to move 
lest the other upset. We joked and laughed dur- 
ing the entire meal, and after it was over and the 
crowd had dispersed, to some extent, our quondam 
visitor said: 

—52— 



"I have enjoyed this immensely. I like things 
that are out of the ordinary." 

He stayed and talked with us that night until 
bed time, and as he left said: 

"I shall see you people again before you 
leave." 

The next morning, before we had packed up, 
he again drove out to see us, and conversed while 
we finished packing. Supposing that would be 
the last we would see of him, we bade him goodbye, 
but a couple of hours later, he again overtook us 
and invited us to take dinner with him at a hotel 
in Oneida. We took his picture, and upon reaching 
the hotel had a most pleasant visit with him. It 
was one of many delightful experiences, and 
we shall always have in our hearts a warm spot for 
this true gentleman. 

The most beautiful scenery of the entire jour- 
ney was in the Mohawk Valley. The road runs 
for miles along the Erie Canal through the wonder- 
ful and far-famed region. 

At Amsterdam, the great carpet-manufactur- 
ing city, a break-down of our cart delayed us for 
several hours. Schenectady, New York, we shall 
always remember as a very live town. At noon, 
on Saturday, when the Electric plant closed for 
the half holiday, there were thousands of prosper- 
ous, happy looking men and boys coming from 
their work. In fact the whole town had a suc- 
cessful appearance. 

Upon arriving at Troy, New York, we turned 
south toward the great metropolis. Crowds of 
people surrounded our cart. One woman approach- 
ed Dolly, and patting her, said: 

"Oh, this poor horse! Does it ever get any- 
thing to eat?" 

This was too much for my good nature. I 

—58— 



had frequently passed over rude remarks, with 
a smile, but this time I turned on the old woman 
and said slowly, so that the audience could hear 
every word: 

"Madam, if you were to eat pork chops in 
proportion to the amount of oats fed to this horse, 
you would be a great deal fatter than you are." 

She had no more to say, but began to pet Don, 
whom she pitied, no doubt, as much as she had 
the horse. 

One thing that was noticeable throughout 
our travels in New York State was the number 
of deserted farms. Every few miles we came to 
tumble down farm houses and barns. The land 
had evidently been deserted for sometime. 

We did not attempt to keep any account, 
but I think that there must have been over two 
hundred within a comparatively small radius. 

It required just one week to walk from Troy, 
the turning point at the Hudson River, to New 
York City. 

At Yonkers, we received a message from the 
New York World, stating that a reporter connected 
with that paper would meet us at the city line 
with an escort of police. The message urged us to 
start from Yonkers on Monday, August 15th, rain 
or shine. 

Exactly three hours and three-quarters from 
the time of starting from Yonkers, we were at the 
City Hall, in New York City, where we met the 
Acting Mayor and a number of other officials. 

As we neared the City Hall I turned to the re- 
porter for the World, who walked by my side, and, 
pointing toward the building, asked what that 
big crowd was, over there. He smiled, and replied : 

"Well, that is the crowd waiting to see you." 

I was certainly surprised, for there was a sea 

—54— 




u 
O 



« « 



of faces, and when, with the aid of pohce and 
reporters, we finally made our way to the entrance 
of the City Hall, a mob of staff photographers was 
stationed on every hand, taking snap shots at us 
from all angles. 

Escorted into the building, we met the Mayor 
and gave him the congratulations of the Mayors 
of the two Kansas Cities. 

Thus ended the long journey. 

The reporter for the World took us over to the 
private dining room of his paper. It was in the 
Roof Garden. After a pleasant hour with him, 
chatting over the incidents of the day, we found a 
suitable place to stay while in the city. 

On September 15th, having spent a month 
seeing New York City, we started home by rail, 
shipping our faithful horse, Dolly, and Don, our 
dog, to Kansas City, in order that they might be 
with us on our next hike. 




—55— 



Tramping and Camping 

IN THE 

Great Southwest. 



BY DWIGHT H. WOOLF. 

^'^^"^^"^•^ HEN one has become accustomed to 
I w » T f out of door life, it is a diflicult mat- 
I v^r i ^^^ to settle down, even for a short 
i * • 1 time, within four walls. Therefore, 
as— ►.—»-■— <S4 three weeks after returning from New 
York to our home in Kansas City, Kansas, Stella 
and I could not longer endure the thought of liv- 
ing in a house. So we began to make prepara- 
tions for another walk. 

At that time I was fully convinced that if I had 
the nerve and energy to persist with the open air 
treatment, I should eventually gain the point which 
I had started out to win. 

It was hard to leave our relatives, who had 
looked forward with great pleasure to having us 
with them during the winter. 

We had decided not to take Don, but had gotten 
only a few blocks from the house when we discov- 
ered the faithful dog trotting along, peacefully 
and stubbornly, under the wagon. Dolly, our 
horse which had pulled the little cart all the way 
to New York, could not realize, of course, what a 
long journey was before her. 

—56— 



It was autumn. The leaves and grass were 
taking on a shade of brown that, although beauti- 
ful in its way, did not present so cheerful an aspect 
as in the springtime. 

The city was soon left behind us. Along both 
sides of the road were immense cornfields. Our 
appetites were increasing with every step. Eager 
to feast upon green corn, we bought some and 
camped, with permission, near a farm-house, stop- 
ping for the night at White Church, Kansas. 

Our route proceeded through the towns of 
Bonner Springs and Edwardsville. At Linwood, 
Kansas, we became acquainted with a farmer's wife 
who had very decided views in regard to the pleas- 
ures of the country. Having all the necessities 
of life at hand, she was surrounded by the beauties 
of nature, yet she preferred the village close by. 

After leaving the place, we had a little of 
the noted winds of Kansas, the breeze center of 
the universe. For a number of miles we could 
hardly take the chance of opening our eyes, through 
fear that they would fill with sand and dirt. How- 
ever, at about three o 'clock we arrived at Lawrence, 
where the State University is located. On the 
outskirts of the town we stopped at a small store 
to replenish our commissary. The proprietor, a 
very friendly man, insisted that we must take din- 
ner with his family. The meal was a most enjoy- 
able one, and our experience at Lawrence was in 
general, exceedingly pleasant. 

The next morning the weather had turned 
colder. As we cooked breakfast over the camp- 
fire, an old man came along, carrying a pack on 
his back. He said that he had tramped all the 
way from Topeka, and had not had a bite to eat. 
We told him to warm himself by our fire, and gave 

—57— 



him some black cofifee, which seemed to cheer him 
up considerably. 

Passing through Topeka, the capital of Kan- 
sas, we followed the Santa Fe railroad through 
the towns of Pauline, Wakarusa and Carbondale, 
to Scranton. Arrived in Burlingame late in the 
afternoon, we met the proprietor of the leading 
hotel. He was a very intelligent man, who was 
interested in our trip, from the standpoint of 
health. 

At Osage City we formed the acquaintance of 
some people who had recently returned from pros- 
pecting in Nevada. They had read in the Nevada 
papers of our travels. 

That evening we camped with a jolly good 
fellow who knew how to make good cider and 
was not a bit stingy with it. He told us that the 
road past his house was frequented by a great 
many tramps; that he purchased a vicious bull- 
dog, but that the dog must have been a tramp at 
some time in his life, for the worst reception that 
he ever gave a tramp was to meet him at the gate, 
wagging his tail as a sign of welcome. 

Our host entertained us during the evening 
by relating a number of witty stories. His account 
of an experience in Arkansas will bear repetition. 
It seems that while he was on one of his trips to 
that state, a gentleman came from the east, and 
asked the farmers why they never sold nor bought 
property in their part of the country, but just 
left their farms from one generation to another. 
After a while he got the people worked up so that 
they began to sell. When all except one of the 
farmers had sold out, they got together and dis- 
cussed the problem of re-investing their money. 
But there was one man, Bill Williams, who had 
not yet disposed of his land, so the group called 

—58— 



on him, inquiring what he asked for it. He replied; 

"Boys, I don't ax nothin'." 

"Well, how's that?" the boys exclaimed. 

"Wall, if I don't ax nothin', I don't have to 
take nothin'." 

While camping at Emporia, Kansas, we met 
a very interesting old gentleman, "Dad" McKanna, 
an old-time engineer. During our conversation 
with him, he informed us that he had run the first 
engine ever run in Kansas; that he had eight living 
children, twenty-nine grand children, and nine 
great-grandchildren; that his oldest boy was fifty- 
four years of age. Mr. McKanna, himself, was then 
in his seventy -fifth year, and he had come to Kan- 
sas in 1855, when the state was first settled. His 
brother was John Brown's private secretary. 

Emporia people showed great appreciation 
of our song, "Takea Walk," and of our souvenir post 
cards. Four miles from the town we stopped at 
the home of a friend of William Allen White, the 
well-known editor of the Emporia Gazette. 

At Cottonwood Falls, Stella went into a bank 
to get warm, while I supplied our commissary with 
provisions. When I returned she seemed dis- 
turbed about something. I asked her what the 
trouble was. 

"Well," she said, "I just stopped in the bank, 
here, to get warm, while you were getting the pro- 
visions that we need, and the banker asked me 
what we were doing. I told him that we were 
making an 8,000 mile walk, and he wanted to know 
why I didn't stay at home and raise kids and cab- 
bage, instead of going around the country in this 
manner." 

I told Stella not to mind what the man had 
said, and then I went up to the window to get a 
five dollar bill changed. However, the banker, 

—59— 



not being satisfied with insulting my wife, started 
in on me, by asking why I didn't push my wife 
around in a wheelbarrow ; that it would attract more 
attention. I tried to be polite to him, although 
I knew that he did not deserve it. I said that we 
were not trying to attract attention, that we did 
not care for notoriety; that I was taking these 
trips for the benefit of my health, and used the 
horse and cart to carry the camping outfit. But 
he took so much interest in our aff"airs, proceeding 
to tell me how I ought to manage, that I advised 
him that I was very sorry not to have seen and 
conferred with him before starting out; that here- 
after I should not forget to confer with him in 
regard to our future actions. 

Four miles from Cottonwood Falls, we struck 
the edge of what is known as the Flint Hills, of Kan- 
sas. The land is used for pasture, only. When 
we came down the last one of the big hills, we were 
invited to a pleasant home, where we spent the 
week end. 

In Elmdale, our cart was surrounded by a 
crowd of farmer boys, who were inclined to be 
slow about purchasing souvenir cards, when a 
lady, a resident of the town, came up and after 
buying for herself, offered to loan the boys the 
money for souvenirs. Their excuse for not 
investing had been the lack of money. Through 
the influence of this lady they all fell into line. 

As our outfit passed the Clover Cliff ranch, 
near Elmdale, a number of horses and pigs in a 
lot became frightened and stampeded. One of 
the horses started to run away at full speed, but 
in the attempt to do so fell over a 400 pound pork- 
er and they both rolled over together, the pig 
squealing at the top of his voice. We always saw 
the funny side of everything, and considered the 

—60— 



incident a very laughable one. The Clover Cliff 
ranch embraces 5,000 acres. 

That night I went to a farm-house to buy 
some butter and cream. After she had given me 
a half a tin cup of butter and a spoonful of cream, 
the woman said: 

"I guess twenty-five cents for the butter and 
ten cents for the cream will be enough, but you 
can pay more if you think it is worth it." 

The high cost of living is not confined entirely 
to cities, although, as a rule, we received more 
than our money's worth. 

We passed through the towns of Peabody, 
Newton, Walton and Sedgwick, camping on the 
place of one of Kansas' most noted stock raisers. 

Wichita appeared to be the most thriving city 
through which we passed. At that point we were 
entertained by a former teacher of Stella's. After 
we had pitched camp a man with peculiar manners 
came to visit us. Then his two boys came out, but 
all at once the father spoke in a commanding tone, 
asking them to go to the barn and throw down 
some hay for the horses. We supposed that the 
boys would take their time to the task, but to 
our surprise they suddenly jumped up and ran at 
full speed toward the barn to obey their father. 
When they came back, and again commenced to 
talk, the father looked at them without saying 
a word and they sprang up and started for the 
pasture to get the cows. After a while the wife, 
who had been getting supper, came out to pay us 
a visit, but soon after her arrival he said some- 
thing casually about his trousers needing mending, 
and the woman lost no time in going into the house. 
Stella insisted on our starting early next morning, 
as she was desirious of getting me away before I 

—61— 



had a chance to learn how the man governed his 
wife. 

Perhaps these incidents may furnish a clue 
to the reason why so many boys leave the farm as 
soon as opportunity presents — and why so many 
farmer's wives go insane. 

At Wellington, Winfield, Oxford and other 
towns we were entertained royally. People seemed 
pleased to see a lady who had the nerve to under- 
take a walk of such great length. 

At Arkansas City we began to see real Indians, 
coming from the different reservations. Newkirk, 
Oklahoma, was a small place, but it had several 
street attractions the day that we were there. An 
Italian with a musical instrument called a concer- 
tina gave a free entertainment on a corner. Un- 
folding his camp stool, which he carried under his 
arm, he placed it on the street near the curb, and 
began to talk: 

"Right over dis way to hear de musical man! 
Don'tmees't! Remember dat music is de greatest 
ting in de worl ' , and you got it right here, dis after- 
noon!" 

Finally, everyone on the street was near the 
Dago, listening to the music, which was really 
good. He played the tunes the old farmers liked, 
and "Turkey in the Straw" made one of them, 
an old gray whiskered man, forget the years that 
had passed since his boyhood days, and clapped 
his hands and stamped his feet in time to the mu- 
sic. After a while the Italian went through the 
group with his cap, taking a collection. When 
anyone put in some money, he said : 

"Good-a-man! Fine-a-sport!" but when I 
started to contribute, he said: 

"Oh, no, I canno taka de money from you — 
you gotta maka de walk!" 

—62— 



The collection was evidently a good-sized one, 
for when the musician again sat down to play, he 
wore the smile that won't come off. A gentleman, 
who had mistaken Stella — on account of her sun- 
burn and unusual dress — to be the Dago's wife, 
stepped up and handed her a dime. Stella said: 
"Is it a copy of 'Take a Walk' that you want?" 
He replied, "No," and went away, leaving my 
wife flushed with embarrassment. The Dago 
appeared disappointed, but when he had finished, 
he good-naturedly turned the crowd over to the 
Socialist Soap-box speaker, whom we had seen at 
Wichita. 

We had a fine visit with old friends, at Ponca 
City, and left there to see an encampment of Indians 
on the Arkansas River. White Horse, the present 
ruler of the Ponca Indians, succeeded White Eagle, 
his father, who is now ninety-six years of age. The 
tents of the Indians were scattered all along the 
river bank. They were having one of their an- 
nual celebrations. 

An Indian's teepee is constructed in a very con- 
venient way. The fire is built in the center of the 
teepee, and the smoke goes straight up through a 
hole in the top, and they all sit around the fire with 
a kettle suspended from the top of a pole, often- 
times a dog-stew being in the kettle. The young 
generation is disposed to be exceedingly friendly 
and sociable, while the older ones do not care to have 
anything to do with the pale faces. There is one 
thing that the American people will have to give 
the Indians credit for, and that is living close to 
nature. Whenever the government has insisted 
upon their occupying houses, a window or door 
pane that is once broken out is seldom replaced. 
It is said that consumption was never known 
among the Indians until they began to live in 

—63— 



houses, and now it is claimed that whole tribes are 
suffering from the disease. 

We took Thanksgiving dinner with Mr. Joe 
Miller, at 101 ranch, owned by the Miller Brothers. 
Then, bidding Mr. Miller and his family goodbye, 
we passed on to Bliss and Red Rock, camping that 
night on the farm of a kind Bohemian. The next 
day we were compelled to walk against a fiercely 
cold wind, which was almost a gale, and as we 
marched along with heads down to avoid the 
biting cold wind in our faces, Dolly shied clear out 
into a ditch. Looking ahead to ascertain the cause 
of her fright, I saw a buggy a few feet in front of 
us, coming at full speed, and propelled by a sail 
made out of a piece of rag carpet. A boy and 
girl were having great sport trying to guide the 
conveyance. Now and then they were obliged to 
grab the wheel to steer it into the road. 

Cotton pickers were at work at Perry, and 
also at Orlando, where we camped. 

A funny incident occurred at Mulhall. While 
Stella was in the newspaper office, a lady came in, 
who appeared to be very much interested in our 
trip, saying that she had read about our previous 
journey in the New York World. When the wo- 
man learned that we had post cards for sale, she 
offered to give us a notice in her paper if we would 
not ask her to buy anything. Stella gave her to 
understand that we did not depend upon either 
the cards or newspaper notices for our success. 

Laying in a new supply of provisions, we start- 
ed for Guthrie, where both of us had grown up. 
We had a most delightful visit with old friends. 

Passing through Edmond and Britton, we 
arrived in Oklahoma City, and went to the 
home of relatives. Oklahoma City has undoubt- 
edly made greater strides than any other city in 

—64— 







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a 

at 

04 to 

5 o 

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etf .t; 



3 



the United States, being only twenty-two years 
old and having over one hundred miles of paved 
streets and many sky-scrapers. 

The Canadian River, which we crossed at Lex- 
ington, was almost dry, but it is considered one 
of the most treacherous rivers in the country. 
The bridge that was formerly suspended over it 
between Lexington and Purcell had been washed 
out by high water and quicksand. The abut- 
ments and the entire structure with all the teams 
crossing it had gone down into the surging water 
and were soon swallowed up by the bottomless 
quicksand. 

In the old Indian Territory, there was no long- 
er any guide as to how to travel, as there were no 
square turns nor section lines. The roads were 
the same as those used before civilization entered 
that part of the country. 

In a few hours we were stuck in the mud. 
Some farmers helped us out and directed us to 
where there was a better road leading into the next 
town. It was rather disheartening, but we knew 
that such things would happen occasionally, and 
we retraced our way. 

Camping in a man's backyard, we attempted 
to shell enough corn for Dolly's supper. We 
were amateurs at that work and did not make 
much headway. Then, two little girls came to 
pay us a visit, and one of them said : 

"I '11 bet you all I can shell more corn than you 
all can." 

One of the children lived in Oklahoma and the 
other one had come from Arkansas. The little 
one from Arkansas, chewing snuff, began to work. 
She shelled two ears to the other 's one, spitting 
freely all of the time. I remarked that she was 
a pretty smart little girl. "Well," she said, "down 

—65— 



where I came from, if you go to school a heap, you 
learn a sight," and I wondered if she were to go to 
school a sight, would she learn a heap? 

Paola, Pauls Valley and Wynnewood came 
in quick succession. At the latter place our camp 
was on the site of a gipsy camp. There had been 
very little rain in that region and water was scarce. 
Many times that day we had been refused water 
for our horse. Leaving Wynnewood in the after- 
noon, we asked a man whom we met where to 
stop for the night in order to have plenty of water 
for Dolly. He informed us that it would be nec- 
essary to walk seven miles. We started for the 
place just as the sun was sinking behind the hills, 
finding *on arrival, an old broken down well, 
and it had only about six inches of water in the 
bottom of it. But a farmer who lived in that 
neighborhood told us that it was dry. He evidently 
hoped that we would pass on without using any 
of the water, but we camped and passed a very 
restless night. In the darkness several drunken 
men stopped and tried to get a drink, and finding 
the old well dry, gave way to anger and tore down 
what was left of the boxing and windlass. 

The following morning we walked into Sul- 
phur, one of the prettiest spots in the state. Sul- 
phur is a health resort, and people from all over the 
country were staying there, on account of the min- 
eral springs. After receiving a very cordial wel- 
come, we walked a few miles beyond the town 
and pitched our tent upon a dairyman 's premises. 
His method of drawing water from his old well was 
a peculiar one; hitching a horse to a long rope, 
he rode the horse the entire length, drawing up the 
bucket, which was attached to the end of the rope. 

The next day was a hard one. A new road 
had been made through the wilderness, and the 

— 6&— 



numerous stumps that we had to cross almost 
broke down the cart. Leaving the wilderness, we 
got into a sandy region where Dolly almost re- 
fused to pull her load. 

Passing through Mill Creek and Troy, we 
stopped with an elderly farmer from Missouri. 
He was extremely thrifty, and when I bought 
fodder for Dolly, gathered up some of the waste 
upon the ground and charged me a quarter for 
it. His wife also had the same thrifty spirit, 
for when Stella went to the house to buy milk, 
the woman poured some in a pail — she called 
it "scum" milk— and said that she "reckoned" it 
was worth a dime. 

The next spot for our tent was in an out of 
the way place, and there was the same trouble 
about getting water for Dolly. Stella was a little 
out of patience with me, and I determined to pun- 
ish her for it, by letting her cook the supper. She 
tried to build a fire, but as she was not an expert 
she became disgusted and kicked the remains of 
the fire over the ground. By that time, I decided 
that she had been sufficiently punished, so I did 
as I have done on all our trips, cooked a nice, warm 
supper and made a big pot of coffee. And as we 
sat by the fire, with a great forest at our backs, 
and the bright moon smiling down upon us, we 
could almost imagine that we were natives, lead- 
ing their simple life and enjoying nature to the 
uttermost. 

There were several small towns that came 
next in the order of march. In one town a crowd 
stood out in front of a store, watching us depart. 
Stella, was trying to present as good an appear- 
ance as possible, and in making the effort, fell 
down in front of me. As I had no chance to get 
her out of the way quickly, so as to prevent the 

—67— 



cart from running over her, I was forced to shove 
her out of the way with my foot. We could hear 
the crowd laugh as long as we were in hearing dis- 
tance. 

When we reached Medill, a boy was standing 
on a corner with a can of hot tomales. Being 
very hungry, we immediately proceeded to appease 
our appetites. A large audience surrounded us 
and watched us eat. The people showed as much 
curiosity to see if we should eat like other persons, 
as if we were wild, vicious animals in a menagerie. 
But even that did not spoil our appetites, and we 
were more than delighted when a man stepped 
out and offered to buy five dozen red hot tomales, 
if we would eat them. He stipulated, however, 
that if we failed to eat all, we should pay for the 
treat. Being told to bring on the tomales, he did 
so, and we stood there before the crowd and ate 
them every one. The laugh was then on the man 
who had challenged our appetites. After selling 
a few post cards to those who had watched our 
feat — many of the bystanders, no doubt wished 
that they had as good appetites as we had exhib- 
ited — we started on our way with wishes of "good 
luck" from the crowd. Kingston and Woodville 
were the last towns in Oklahoma through which our 
procession passed. It was now only two miles 
to the Red River, the boundary line between 
Oklahoma and Texas. The Red River has fully 
as bad a reputation as the Canadian has, but un- 
like the Canadian, it had plenty of visible water. 
At first we were afraid to cross, but finally I mus- 
tered up courage enough to wade across that we 
might know its depth. As I waded, I could feel 
the sand slipping under my feet. Undoubtedly, 
if I had stood in one spot any length of time I 
should have been swallowed up. Going back to 

—68— 



where my belongings were, I unpacked the bottom 
of the cart on the sand bar, so as to prevent that 
part of our baggage from becoming wet. The 
water was deep enough to enter the cart. At 
last I persuaded Stella to get on top of the cart, 
and again I waded across, leading Dolly by the 
bridle. I then had to unpack the baggage from 
the top part of the cart and wade back again after 
the remainder of our baggage. It was my third 
trip from shore to shore and I was wet and cold, 
but when I had changed to warm, dry clothing, 
I never felt better in my life. However, I was 
thankful that the treacherous river was safely be- 
hind us. 

After packing the cart, we started up the slip- 
pery, steep bank on the Texas side. To save 
Dolly, who was unable to pull the load up the hill, 
from backing into the river, both of us jumped to 
the back of the cart and pushed with all our might, 
thus giving the faithful little horse courage to 
make a stronger effort. When we reached the 
top, we holloed: 

"Hooray,! Three cheers for Texas!" 

At Preston, the first town in Texas, we met 
a gang of ruffians, who had been partaking too 
freely of the prohibited "firewater." A lot of 
boys rushed out of an old vacant building and 
surrounded the cart. They were bent upon having 
some fun out of us, but finding out that we were 
both jolly good people, they became our friends 
and wished us good luck on our way. 

At Denison, on Christmas Eve, the streets 
were filled with shoppers. A large crowd collected 
around our cart. While Stella was giving the story 
of our trip to the representative of the local news- 
paper, someone threw a huge cannon fire cracker 
under Dolly, and she started to run away. Luck- 

—69— 



ily, a man stopped her before she had done any 
damage. 

The explosion of fireworks on Christmas sur- 
prised us, we had never heard them except on the 
Fourth of July. It seems that it is the custom in 
the South to celebrate Christmas in that manner. 

We camped with people who were examples 
of true Southern hospitality. Although they had 
known us only a few hours, we were given free 
access to the house and cellar, where a bountiful 
supply of fruit and everything good was stored, 
and told to make ourselves at home, while the 
family spent Christmas day with friends. 

The next stop was at Sherman. Before 
reaching that city we visited acquaintances 
of our recent hosts and were entertained royally. 

Beyond Van Alstyne, we were delayed by 
an accident to the cart, but with the help of several 
farmers, I succeeded in getting the cart out of the 
road, and taking the broken part to town had it 
repaired. 

It then began to rain. We were in the section 
of the state known as the "black lands," or gumbo 
mud, which is very rich and fertile. The soil, when 
dry, packs and makes a road equal to anything 
that is macadamized, but when wet even 
slightly it makes traveling almost impossible. 
The wheels became clogged with mud, so that 
Dolly found it hard to pull the cart. As we plod- 
ded along, we noticed an old hen, who was having 
much trouble. Her toes were spread out almost 
the size of a saucer. Poor Don was having hard 
luck, too. The mud kept collecting between his 
toes, and when walking became almost impossible, 
he sat down and bit it out, keeping an eye on us 
all of the time to see that we did not get very far 

—70— 



ahead. This process was repeated every few feet. 
It was a laughable sight. 

Going by way of McKinney and Piano, we 
camped in Richardson on New Year's Eve. The 
only available spot was near a church and the 
ground was covered with a growth of prickly burrs. 
Dolly had been used to rolling every night when 
unharnessed. She lay down on the burrs and 
got up rather suddenly with an expression of pos- 
itive disgust on her face. 

At Dallas, on New Year's day, we first en- 
countered a Texas Norther. Before getting our 
tent up, our hands became almost frozen, and the 
weather was so cold that it was impossible to pre- 
pare supper. As we sat in the tent, wondering 
what we should do, a gentleman who lived across 
the street came to see us, asking if we would 
accept some hot biscuits and apple butter. His 
thoughtfulness did much to make our condition 
at that time more tolerable. 

During the cold wave, we remained in Dallas, 
and met a number of exceedingly interesting people 
among them a man and his wife who had been in 
the crowd in New York City when we finished our 
2,000 mile walk. 

A theatrical company that was playing 
Graustark in one of the best theatres in Dallas, 
invited us to the show. Our observation has 
proved that of all persons, the people of the stage 
are the most cordial. Whenever we met them 
they extended a hearty welcome. Their good 
fellowship is accounted for by the fact that travel 
broadens the mind, and contact with human nature 
in all of its varied forms has a tendency to make 
one more kindly disposed. 

We made the acquaintance of Mr. Jones, a 
young man who had just returned from walking 

—71— 



to Nome, Alaska, and back. His example was 
one of real pluck and energy. He had started on 
the journey in a paper suit and without any money. 
Many hardships had been encountered in the 
far north. Two faithful collie dogs had accom- 
panied him home. 

At Fort Worth the crowds around us were so 
dense that trafl&c was obstructed. Our reception 
was a very pleasant one, through the attentions 
of a number of delightful people. 

The next towns in order were Crowley and 
Cleburne. The roads were bad, and at times we 
were compelled to sit down and rest and give poor 
Dolly a chance to regain her strength. It seemed 
to be a practically worthless country. The ground 
was covered with black-jack timber and sand and 
rocks, hence the region was sparsely settled. 

After an escape, effected by using tact, from 
a gang of rough boys at Covington, we marched 
on to Hillsboro and Abbot. 

Waco proved to be a hustling place. While 
on the street, we met a gentleman — a friendly 
German. He said: 

"For how much do you sell your cards, Mr. 
Woolf?" 

"Ten cents a set," I replied. 

"Veil, now, you gif me a set, and don't forget 
to write to me." Then he produced a pocket 
knife with his name and business advertisement 
on it, and exclaimed: 

"Now, I belif you forget me before you go 
very far, so I gif you dis knife so you vill re- 
member me, but first I vant you to gif me some- 
ting, or you haf bad luck." 

I handed him a match to break the spell of 
bad luck which the acceptance of the knife would 
bring on me, according to his belief, and thank- 

—72— 



ed him, telling him that I should certainly remem- 
ber him. After giving me a small memorandum 
from his note-book — to refresh my memory in 
case of forgetfulness — he departed, but soon after- 
ward he came to me saying: 

"I've someting else for you," giving me a 
corkscrew enclosed inside of an imitation bullet. 
"Now," said he, "I'm vonce more afraid dat you 
lose dese tings and I vant you to be sure to write," 
and we fulfilled our promise. 

At Bruceville we were made the guests of the 
town. We met there a man named Walk. He 
owned a livery stable. He asked how far we had 
taken our old horse. When told the distance that 
she had gone, he remarked that he did not see how 
she could do it, as she must be a hundred years 
old. 

Near Temple, we were entertained in one of 
the mansions of slavery days. 

Saledo, a health resort, and Prairiedale; 
Jarrell and Cornhill came next on the route. 
Georgetown is a beautiful spot where the old set- 
tlers hold reunions every year. We walked from 
Georgetown to Round Rock, a distance of ten 
miles, in two hours, which was a record march for 
us. 

Austin is a nice city, beautifully laid out and 
decorated with a new system of street lighting, 
diflferent from any that I have seen elsewhere. 
At regular intervals are large steel structures, 
with brilliant lights at the top, and these shed their 
rays over blocks in all directions. 

Stella bought a large straw hat at Buda. 
Although it was January the sun's rays were get- 
ting very warm. The grass along the roadside 
was green. 

Beyond Kyle were acres and acres of cactus. 

—73— 



There were many Mexicans in the part of Texas 
through which we were now passing. Their fav- 
orite dish, it seemed, was chilli con carne, a very 
hot mixture made of beef, Mexican peppers and 
other ingredients. 

Entering San Marcos, we stopped to look at 
the beautiful San Marcos River, noted for its clear, 
cold water. There we met a couple who were 
walking enthusiasts. The wife had regained health 
by walking and swimming. 

That night we camped with a family of Mex- 
icans. They proved to be both friendly and 
generous. 

New Braunfels, a town colonized entirely by 
Germans, was only a day's walk from San Antonio, 
the first turning point and the end of the first lap 
of the 8,000 miles. 

We entered San Antonio early one morning, 
passing through Fort Sam Houston, the second 
largest fort in the United States. It was the time 
of the Mexican uprising, and the city was filled 
with troops on the way to the border. San Antonio 
— ^SanAntone, the natives call it — is an exceedingly 
interesting place, filled with historic associations. 
The Alamo — the cradle of Texas liberty — is almost 
the first place to be shown to tourists. The old 
missions are quaint and the natural hot water baths 
are patronized by visitors from far and wide. 

Mr. and Mrs. Murray, theatrical folks, were 
playing "My Country Cousin" at one of the thea- 
tres. Mr. Murray won distinction by kicking his 
way around the world in eleven months. 

San Antonio looks almost like a foreign city. 
The houses are low and close to the ground, and 
many of them are made of adobe. They appear to be 
dirty and gloomy, from the outside. No matter 
how small the yard may be, its owner usually 

—74— 



keeps a cow, chickens and pigs. Sometimes there 
is a garden, also, for raising vegetables. The fam- 
ous Buckhorn Saloon is a remarkable place. Its 
walls are decorated with thousands of elks' horns, 
heads, rattlesnake rattles and rare specimens of 
different kinds. Women tourists may be seen at 
any time visiting this saloon. 

While in San Antonio we received invitations 
from persons who lived in various sections of the 
United States to be their guests when we reached 
their homes. 

We had a strange experience while in the city. 
Late one night, as we were leaving the center of 
town, we were followed by a large, dark-faced man. 
From his actions it seemed that he meant no good 
to us. Once he stepped up right behind us, but 
we wheeled suddenly and faced him, when he slunk 
into the shadow. There is no doubt but that he 
had intended to assault us, but saw that we were 
watching him. There was no sleep for us that 
night. We both stayed up with a loaded revolver 
at hand. Don seemed to know intuitively that 
there was danger. He bristled up his hair and 
growled and was as restless as we were. However, 
nothing happened, although our camp had probably 
been watched with the purpose of taking us un- 
awares. When morning dawned, we sought re- 
freshment in a few hours' sleep. 

The morning of our departure, a lot of boys 
came to see us off. They had great fun with Don, 
who played as if he were one of them. 

That night Dolly followed a farmer's wagon 
for some distance, and when found she was calmly 
eating fodder out of the back of the wagon. 

Along the Southern Pacific railroad there are a 
number of German settlements. The houses are 
built back in the center of the farms, which are 

—75— 



finely cultivated, as the Germans are good workers. 

Near Flatonia, a creek had overflowed its 
banks and covered the road with water. Our 
progress was very slow and difficult. At last, we 
came to quite a large body of water, and it appear- 
ed to be impossible to walk around it. While I 
was trying to figure out a way of getting across, 
Dolly started down the road through the water, 
leaving us standing on the bank. I let her go her 
way, thinking that she would follow the road *and 
get out all right, but she went up the creek. 
Then it was up to me to guide her out. I reached the 
outfit just in time to save it from being overturned. 
Dolly and the cart were all tangled up in some 
debris that had floated down the creek in the 
drenching rains. After untangling myself from 
a barbed wire fence, I managed to climb on Dolly's 
back and take her out of danger. 

Meantime, Stella had been looking for a place 
to cross. She had succeeded in getting her feet 
wet, but had not made any progress. I came to 
her assistance, and after tugging with a big log 
that weighed more than I did, and dragging 
it a long way, I finally placed it across the stream 
that separated my wife from me. I then leaned 
over as far as I could and held out a long pole for 
her to grasp, so that she might not lose her balance. 

When about half across, she began to think 
about which side would be the best to fall in, 
and sure enough, in she went. When I had helped 
her out, we climbed the hill on the other side, and 
went to a log cabin, asking permission to change 
our clothes there. The good old negro woman 
gladly allowed us to do so, and when everything 
was dry we again set forth. 

The wind was cold that night, and the invita- 
tion that came from the nearest family to stay at 

—76— 



a house was indeed welcome. For the first time 
in our lives, we slept between two feather beds. 
Our hosts were Austrians, and we learned upon 
inquiry that it is the custom in their country to 
sleep in winter between feather beds. 

In Schulenburg we were directed to the wrong 
road and had some difficulty getting back into 
line. Our tent that night was pitched on the land 
of a German family. Stella went up to the house 
to see if she could buy some ham, and as the weath- 
er was a little cold, the German lady thought my 
wife was suffering and came running out of the 
house with a cup of hot coffee. Stella accepted 
it, and while she was drawing a pail of water, the 
woman came out again with her apron full of eggs 
and slipped two of them into Stella's pocket, say- 
ing in broken English : "Don't tell fader." Then 
the little girl came, and acted as interpreter. 
Stella bought some ham, and she had no more 
than reached the camp until the little girl came 
running down with two nice big slices of ham, 
which she gave to us, saying, "Don't tell fader." 

The funniest thing about it was that "fader" 
had been to our camp and had been just as friendly 
and generous as the rest of the family, bringing 
us a basket of hay for the horse. 

Our next stopping place was in a beautiful 
spot, surrounded by woodland with plenty of 
water near at hand. I cut a lot of wood and made 
a huge campfire which we sat by until almost 
twelve o'clock. 

Leaving Columbus, we got away from the hills 
into a flat country, camping near an orange grove. 
Before reaching Eagle Lake we could see what 
seemed to be a large city ahead. As we approached, 
it grew smaller in size. It was a mirage. Beyond 
the town was a vast cattle region. The great 

—77— 



herds of long horned Texas steers paid little at- 
tention to us. They were so thin that they could 
barely stand. The immense prairies became very 
monotonous. Here and there could be seen a 
pool of stagnant water, all that the poor stock 
had to drink. The grazing, also, was slim. Brown, 
seared-looking grass was the only food the cattle 
had. 

Rosenburg, Richmond, the Brazos River cross- 
ing, and Sugarland were soon left behind. On 
the way to Stafford a freight train passed us, and 
the conductor asked if we didn't want to ride. 

We replied "no," telling him that if he did not 
go any faster than he was doing at that time, 
we should beat him anyhow. He laughed, and 
the crew waved their hands as the train dis- 
appeared in the distance. Some time later, we 
passed the same freight train at a switch, waiting 
for a passenger to go by. We turned the laugh 
on the crew, saying: 

"I told you we would beat you if you didn't 
hurry up." 

Soon the train again went by us, then, after 
making a few more miles, we overtook it, and the 
situation became really comical. We kept up 
this passing and re-passing until the men began 
to think that we were pretty good walkers. Then 
we grew confident and exerted ourselves to out- 
do the train, and we finally did reach the next 
town ahead of it .The townspeople joked the crew 
until they were mad enough to fight. 

Our camp, the next time, was with a grading 
outfit that was building a shell road from Houston. 
These roads are characteristic of this part of the 
country. They are made from shells from the 
Gulf of Mexico, and form one of the very finest 
pikes. The boss proved to be an old acquaintance, 

—78— 



from Guthrie, Oklahoma. At Houston we were 
the guests of a former resident of Oklahoma. We 
had known him for years. This friend was sur- 
rounded with all the luxuries of life. Down at 
the bayou he had a launch, and at Morgan's Point, 
on Galveston Bay, was his house boat supplied 
with everything that goes to make a duck hunt 
successful. The trip in company with our host 
was a novel one. Going down to Morgan's Point 
on the launch, we visited the old battle ground 
where Santa Anna was killed in the decisive battle 
between the Texans and the Mexicans. Arriving 
at the Point, the launch was anchored and we all 
went fishing. But the duck hunting on Gal- 
veston Bay was the most exciting part of the ex- 
perience. There were great flocks of ducks that 
had come down from the North for the Winter. 
Hunters had decoys all along the banks. The 
decoys were so natural that even our host was 
deceived. At one time he came very near shooting 
at some of them, but just in time a man came out 
of a thicket and waved his hand. Just then we 
caught sight of a flock of real ducks: 

"Now, be still," said he, "there's a large 
bunch of ducks, and you have to be quiet and not 
steer the boat too close to them." 

He had turned off the power so as not to make 
any noise, and we were moving slowly through 
the water, when all at once the flock arose, and 
when they were about ten feet from the surface 
of the bay, he shot into them, disabling a couple. 
We had a hard time to find them, as they are very 
plucky and even when shot they battle for life 
to the last. Sometimes they get away, but after 
a long search we found two ducks that we had 
killed. Securing another one, from a bunch far- 
ther out in the bay, we returned to Houston. 

—79— 



On the way to Beaumont we camped on the 
banks of a fine stream called Trinity. While I 
was pitching the tent, I allowed Dolly to graze, 
and she attempted to run away. I chased her 
for about a mile and a half before I succeeded in 
stopping her. Then I gave her a good whipping 
all the way back. Don was so excited when I 
whipped her, that I thought he would certainly 
try to take her part. Don always thinks he must 
take a hand when anything goes wrong. 

The country had now taken on a genuine trop- 
ical appearance. The Spanish moss hanging from 
the trees was beautiful. Along the roadsides was 
a growing plant that resembled a palm. Magnolia 
trees were on every hand. It was the month of 
March, and we compared the balmy air of Southern 
Texas with that of our own home at that time of 
the year. 

Before reaching Beaumont, we visited the 
oil fields and became objects of interest to the 
workmen, who purchased our souvenir cards. Our 
next camp was infested by two kinds of visitors, 
of the welcome and the unwelcome sort, the latter 
being a swarm of mosquitoes. For supper, we 
had fresh oysters, purchased from a near-by fish- 
erman. A gipsy woman came to see us, bringing 
a dozen eggs as a present. She referred to the days 
of her youth, when she had been a wanderer. 

Leaving Beaumont, we had much trouble 
about taking the best road, and after retracing 
our steps once or twice, we started down through 
an unsettled part of the country. The ground 
was soft and boggy, and part of the time there 
were no wheel prints to guide us. Going over 
what is called the "corduroy" roads, the cart 
was nearly broken several times. Corduroy 
roads are made by placing logs in the mud, so 

—80— 



that vehicles will not sink. Some of the logs had 
rotted, the wheels got into one rut after another. 

The banks of the Neches River are so low 
that the river seems to be on a level with the shore. 
On the sand, taking a sun bath, were several tiny 
alligators. We traveled along the river for many 
miles and then were ferried over. At the ferry, 
no one was in sight, at first, but hanging to a tree 
was a big piece of iron, to be used as a gong for 
notifying the ferryman, who lived quite a distance 
from the river. We hit the iron several times, 
and two women came down the road, and to our 
amazement, got on to the ferry boat and by main 
strength pulled it across the river. They seemed 
surprised to learn that anyone was walking down in 
that part of the country, and doing it from choice. 

Our rest, that night, was broken by the 
swarms of mosquitoes that annoyed us. We tried 
taking our tent to another spot, at some distance 
from the trees, but it was of no avail. The 
mosquitoes followed us. Not until we reached 
New Jersey did we see any duplicate of such mos- 
quitoes. When morning came, we were exhausted 
from loss of sleep, and our foreheads and noses 
were specked and swollen from the bites. 

One of the prettiest sights we witnessed in 
the south, was the water lilies on the bayous. 
The flowers springing up from the water were so 
thick that there appeared to be a solid bed of 
blossoms. 



—81— 



Tramping and Camping 



IN 



Dixie Land. 



BY D WIGHT H. VrOOLF. 

'^""^•■■^•i^T WAS necessary to go up the Sabine 
f w I River to West's ferry in order to cross. 
I I I ^^^ ground was soggy and walking 
I •■• I rather difficult. The ferry boat was 
3K'-~— *'s5£ propelled by a small motor boat. I took 
the picture of Stella with the horse and cart, just 
ready to leave the landing. 

On the Louisiana side, we had to repair an 
old, broken-down bridge before we could get any 
where, and then we were mighty lucky that it 
did not fall in. The same thing happened many 
times that day. 

We now entered the pine forests, passing 
through our first lumber camp. Vinton, a little 
town in the heart of the oil section, is only seven- 
teen feet above sea level. On the way to Lake 
Charles, we were lost, not seeing a single house 
or person for ten miles, walking all the time through 
a forest. There was nothing but big pine trees 
and burnt stumps and burning trees on all sides 
of us. Finally we came to a little new pine house 
with a picket fence around it. I knocked at the 
door and a wrinkled faced old woman peeked cau- 
tiously out of a crack and asked what 1 wanted. 

—82 



I told her not to be afraid, that I simply want- 
ed to inquire about the roads; that we had gotten 
lost. 

By that time she mustered up courage to say 
in a high-pitched, squeaky voice: 

"Where's you all aimin' to go?" 

I replied that we had started to go to St. 
Charles, but that we had gotten on the wrong 
road. 

She then informed us that we were on the 
way to De Quincy, a little farther — about four 
miles — ahead in the pine woods. 

When asked what kind of a town it was, she 
replied : 

"Oh, it's just a heap of pine knots and a 
store or two!" which we found to be the case. 

But a branch of the Kansas City Southern 
railroad running through it livened up the town 
somewhat and made it seem not quite so far from 
home. 

One of the strange things about this town, 
and Vinton, also, was the sale of "Near-beer," 
which was freely distributed to the entire popu- 
lation. Louisiana is a local option — or prohibition 
— state in sections, but this Near-beer seemed 
to get near enough, judging from results. 

The only sign for the guidance of travelers 
was in the vicinity of De Quincy. It was "De- 
Quincy, 4 miles." 

Nearly every step that we took, a snake 
appeared, running out from under our feet. On 
all sides, we could hear the grass rustling, and if 
we looked in the direction from which the rustling 
came, nearly always a snake was wriggling itself 
out of our way. The reason for this was that 
we were close to an immense swamp. 

A man on horseback came along, and we 

—83— 



asked him how it was that there were so many- 
snakes in that part of the country. He said: 

"Where are you all travelin'?" 

We told him that we were going to New Or- 
leans. 

"Well, if you all are goin' by way of New 
Orleans, you all haven't seen any snakes yet." 

Right then and there we decided to change 
our route from the low, swampy region, and trav- 
el northeastward through the pine forests to Alex- 
andria. 

As we were going along the road, when there 
was not a snake in sight, we could always see the 
trail of one, in the dust. Seeing a big black-looking 
one stretched out as if it were dead, I thought it 
must be lifeless, but just to make sure I stepped 
on its tail. It was the livest snake I ever saw, 
suddenly raising its head and darting its tongue 
out at me. I lost no time giving it all the room 
it wanted. 

Leaving Kinder, we got into the turpentine 
forests, and for miles and miles we could see 
where the trees were cut so as to allow the turpen- 
tine to drip into little cans that were placed on the 
trees. Cutting these trees evidently kills them, 
but not until after the trusts, who own all this 
vast amount of timber, have gotten more than 
the worth of the trees from the turpentine they 
yield. The people who inhabit the region, do not, 
as a rule, own any of the land; they are, in general, 
poor and illiterate. Many of them are merely the 
slaves of the big timber concerns. 

The system that the timber trusts employ is 
to send out men into the country to offer those 
who own the land a small sum of money, possibly 
about two dollars or two dollars and fifty cents an 
acre. There being no chance for the people to 

—84— 



handle the property, they sell at the trusts' own 
price. After the concerns buy up a lot of land in 
one vicinity they build a railroad to transport the 
timber to the mills. These railroads are construct- 
ed of light weight rails, and are narrow. They are 
termed "tram" roads. We saw many abandoned 
tram roads, as we walked through the immense 
forests. 

On one occasion, we came upon a poor family, 
"movin' from up on the tram," down into the rice 
fields. The family consisted of a young man and 
his wife, with their rapidly increasing progeny, and 
the old grandmother, who was seated high up on 
a wagon load of house hold belongings, holding 
one of the youngest children in her arms. The 
others were pedestrians from necessity, as the 
wagon was too heavily laden for them to ride. The 
load was entirely too heavy for the two small, 
young oxen which were drawing it. I asked the 
driver if he did not think it too much for the 
team, and he replied: 

"No, they could carry a thousand pounds." 

As there was no humane officer to dispute his 
right to overburden his poor beasts, we decided to 
let a bad matter alone. 

I asked the old woman on the wagon if she 
would get down and let me take her photograph, 
but she at first objected, saying that she would 
have to have "two-bits" for her picture. When 
I said that would be all right, she said: "Oh, I 
wuz jest a foolin'," thenshestoodup with the others 
and I took their picture. 

I learned from the young man that these poor 
people had been made the victims of the timber 
trust. They had been persuaded to sell their 
land, and having spent the pittance received from 



the sale, thex'^ were now forced to emigrate to the 
rice fields in search of work. 

Those who have been defrauded of their land 
become angry because of their treatment, and are 
constantly setting fire to the vast forests, there- 
by keeping a beautiful green grass that always 
grows where the dead grass has been burned 
of!". The southern woods are beautiful, with their 
long leaf pines, part of them burning, some burned 
to the ground, and others still standing. The 
ground has a solid green coating. 

We were several weeks going through this 
lumber region. At night, when we camped, we 
burned pine knots, which blazed up and made a 
brilliant fire which we could not put out. We 
never had any difficulty starting a fire with which 
to cook, when we were walking through the pine 
forests, even after a soaking rain. It was necessary, 
during this part of the journey, to keep on the look- 
out for burning trees that were ready to fall. 

On one occasion, as we walked along in a 
leisurely manner, trying to avoid stumps, we heard 
behind us a terrific crash, which caused Dolly to 
jump and start to run, almost tipping over the 
cart. Looking around to learn the reason of the 
noise, we saw a huge tree, fully one hundred and 
fifty feet high, lying directly across the road we 
had just traversed. We had escaped, almost by 
a miracle, from being crushed. Many fine trees 
were burned at the bottom, and were ready to fall 
When the fire once gets started, it does not stop 
until the tree is burned to the ground. There is 
so much pitch in the pine that even the green ones 
burn. 

Realizing that if Dolly once got away from 
us in these forests, we should never be able to find 
her, we made it a rule to lariet her close to the tent 

—86— 



every night. As there are very few people to be 
seen, and no square turns in the roads, we, ourselves, 
lost the way about once a day. All a traveler can 
do is to follow as nearly as he can the winding 
path that appears to be the main road. Often times, 
we continued walking when we believed we were 
going in the wrong direction, until we came to a 
house, then if the people could understand English 
— they were usually French — asked them where 
we were. Once the cart wheel broke, and I fixed 
it as best I could, proceeding slowly until we 
reached a house. Although the man of the family 
could not understand our language, he saw our 
plight, and started off to the woods with an axe. 
He returned with two small, stout branches, which 
he cut the diameter of the wheel, and placed be- 
tween the spokes, thus strengthing them. When 
I offered him money, he waved it away, uttering 
some words that were unintelligible to me. We 
then showed him a newspaper which contained 
our pictures and a story of our trip, and gave him 
a set of post cards, with which he seemed to be 
delighted. These French people had complexions 
that were almost of a copper color. The women and 
children all went barefooted, and wore huge ear- 
rings. One of the girls offered Stella a baked 
sweet potato. The young woman at first brought 
it out in her hand, but upon a word of reproof from 
her mother, returned to the kitchen and brought 
back the potato on a fork. She did not offer me 
any, but Stella said that it was certainly cooked 
to a queen's taste, and was as sweet as honey. 

The wheel that the Frenchman had fixed 
was now as strong as new, although it did not look 
so well, and we used it until we reached Natchez, 
Mississippi, where we were told that the "walking 
spokes" were a very common thing, and were 

—87— 



often resorted to by farmers of the cointry, as 
blacksmith shops were few and far between 

At Pine Prairie — the next little town — I dis- 
covered that we had gone a great distance out of 
our way. I stopped to get a shave. The only 
person who did any shaving was a man who ran 
the general merchandise store. He made a bar- 
ber's chair out of a dry goods box, and it was a 
comical sight, but not so bad looking as I, for I 
had not had a shave for almost a week. It was 
a serious operation. He had a razor that had evi- 
dently been used as a household necessity, and it 
snagged my whiskers out, instead of cutting them. 
Every once in a while he turned to me and asked 
if he were hurting me. 

"No, go ahead," I replied, "it's all right," 
but nevertheless I was glad to get out of that 
chair. 

After my release, I purchased a dozen eggs 
from him, but he certainly did not know that 
chickens were worth more than eggs, for out of 
the dozen I got exactly five little chicks, which, 
however, were dead. 

We had the good fortune to strike the trail 
of an automobile full of people who had come 
down from Alexandria that day to auction off 
the merchandise of a store that had gone into 
bankruptcy, hence we could be certain of the 
road for many a mile. 

On the way to Alexandria, Don thought he 
was going to be able to do something to pay his 
share of the expenses. Hearing a pig squealing, 
we looked in the direction from which the sounds 
came and saw Don running toward us with some- 
thing in his mouth. We exclaimed, "Don has a 
rabbit!" but when he got closer, we found that he 
had a little pig. Of course, he got a whipping for 

—88— 




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this, for if the natives had learned of what he had 
done, it would have cost his life, and made trouble 
for us. 

Don had worn himself out, all along the way, 
chasing rabbits, but he had never succeeded in 
catching one. But he found the game in Louis- 
iana just the right size and gait, and he had chosen 
the smallest one of the litter. As the dog dropped 
the pig at our feet, it was just breathing its last. 
Don's eyes gleamed with pride in what he no doubt 
thought to be a great achievement. From that 
time on we kept him — by the aid of a hickory 
stick — from chasing any more pigs. 

In Louisiana it is the custom for farmers 
to brand their hogs and sheep and allow them 
to run loose in the woods and fatten on the nuts 
that fall to the ground in the fall. The animals 
are herded together and every farmer picks out 
his own according to the brand. No one is sup- 
posed to be dishonest, and if reports be true, any- 
one caught stealing another's stock is pretty 
roughly dealt with, and not exactly according to 
law. For which we deemed it wise to be careful 
that Don be prevented from repeating his little 
escapade. We thereafter called our faithful dog 
a "pig-hound." 

It was interesting to notice the gradual chang- 
es in the customs as we traveled from one section 
to another. A house that is characteristic of 
the part of the state through which we were going, 
is built with a long roof, protruding so as to form 
a covering for a porch, or gallery. The majority 
of these houses have flap doors and no window- 
panes. The buildings are not painted, and each 
one, no matter how small it may be, is provided 
with a wide porch and a fire-place or two. There 
is usually a good-sized hallway between the rooms, 
affording a draught, which makes the house cool 
—89— 



in summer. The floors seldom have carpets, and 
are scrubbed clean and white, and, being at least 
two feet above the ground, are dry and sanitary. 

While camping beyond LeCompte, we were 
visited by a great many persons, who seemed to 
enjoy sitting around our fire. An old negro, who 
had been a slave, related stories regarding the 
customs of his younger days. Le Compte was 
one of the oldest slave markets. The negro said 
that once he thought he would like to travel a 
little, and that he had gone as far as the Mississippi 
River, when he saw a big, dark house on a hill. 
Then he heard a voice saying, "fresh meat!" 
Again, he heard the sound, "fresh meat! fresh 
nigger meat!" He was very much frightened, 
but did riot attempt to run when he saw someone 
coming toward him. He knew that there would 
be no use in that. They asked him what he was 
doing in that part of the country, and he said: 

"I was just looking for a job." The other 
fellow said: "You can't get it here." 

They began to talk among themselves, about 
a big iron pot and fresh meat, and he said that 
although he had not called -any one "marster," since 
slavery days, he got down on his knees and called 
that man "marster," and told him that he didn't 
mean any harm; that he had been looking for 
work, but that if they would let him go, he would 
never come back. 

When released, he ran as fast as possible with- 
out looking back. The old man also told of a place 
about ten miles from Le Compte. The town is 
called Ten Mile, and is inhabited by a class of peo- 
ple that is not composed of white folks nor of 
negroes, but a sort of Red Bone variety, a mixed 
breed. It is said that anyone who is either all 
white or all black is not allowed to go there, nor 

—90— 



to live in the vicinity. Those who have tried to 
do so have never been heard of since. 

After being entertained pleasantly in Alex- 
andria, we started to Natchez. Many people 
have been lost in the swamps between the two 
cities, so we decided to avoid the road leading 
through boggy ground. On the way to White 
Sulphur Springs, we had much trouble determin- 
ing which was the right road, and were compelled 
to retrace our steps. 

White Sulphur vSprings is a health resort 
situated in a beautiful spot. At Jena the natives 
were afraid of us at first, but were finally induced 
to come to our cart. We soon found ourselves 
in low lands where pigs and other stock annoyed 
us while camping. Don was kept busy chasing 
the hogs away from Dolly's feed pan. Marks on 
the trees showed that the ground must have been 
covered with water, fully ten feet, at times. There 
are no bridges across the streams. We crossed so 
many that it no longer seemed a hardship to pay 
the charges, which were probably heavier because 
of our not being residents of that section of the 
country. At last a fewyman told us that the law 
of the state did not permit a charge of more than 
twenty-five cents, in Louisiana. The next time 
an attempt was made to take advantage of us, 
I remarked that there must be some mistake; that 
the regular price was twenty-five cents. Then 
the ferryman said: "Well, I guess that will be 
all right." 

Protected by a high dyke, built to keep the 
water from overflowing the big plantations, we walk- 
ed to Jonesville, regardless of the fact that it was 
raining. 

Plantation owners build little houses for the 
negroes who work for them. The negroes receive 

—91— 



very small wages, and are really in a worse con- 
dition than during slavery days. 

The number of hounds kept at these places 
was surprising. On many occasions the dogs 
started from the house as soon as we came in sight. 
They kept up a continuous baying until they 
reached us, but when I hit them over the head with 
my stick they ran back to the house singing their 
song all the while. 

It was noticeable that the horses and cattle 
throughout the South, were thin and starved-look- 
ing. Along the dyke they ate the grass down as 
fast as it appeared, yet their ribs could be easily 
counted. 

There was a tendency to ask too much for 
what we were compelled to purchase in the country 
stores. At one place, I overheard the wife of the 
proprietor telling her husband to put up the price, 
as they would never see us anj^more. For this 
reason, we did not stock up until we reached 
Trinity, where the kind proprietor of a big warehouse 
invited us to camp under it's shelter. Soon, he 
came out with a little French drip coffee-pot and 
two cups of hot, steaming, coffee. Our new ac- 
quaintance showed us many attentions that were 
greatly appreciated. The large warehouse was 
conducted by what is known as a Farmers' Union. 
The farmers in the vicinity bring their products 
there to be stored until a reasonable price can be 
obtained for them. Credit is good, and in case 
of a bad crop there is no suffering nor lack of 
the necessities of life, which are all obtained at 
wholesale price. Goods are purchased in New 
Orleans and conveyed to destination by steamer. 
At twelve o'clock when we were sleeping soundly, 
a huge steamer came in with a consignment of 
merchandise. The whistle soon awakened us. 

—92— 



The sun came out the following day, and our 
clothes and bedding were dried. I cooked a nice, 
hot dinner on the small stove that had been loaned 
us for use in the warehouse, and we resumed our 
travels. 

For many miles, the road to Natchez wound 
through the woods. All through the state of 
Louisiana, we saw poor white folks and negroes 
who were so ignorant that they could barely give 
us directions as to what road to take. 

From Vidalia, Louisiana, to Natchez, we 
walked, crossing the Mississippi River by steam 
ferry. Natchez was once a thriving city, but the 
boll weevil caused the cotton crops to become such 
a failure that the commerce of the place was ser- 
iously injured, as cotton was the chief product of 
the vicinity. The insect first appeared in Texas, 
but moved eastward. 

While we were selling souvenirs on the streets, 
a man who wanted to have a little sport asked 
Stella why she didn't tie a cup on the dog, as she 
might be able to take in more money in that wa)^ 
She replied that she had thought some of doing 
that, but that now she would prefer tying the cup 
to his — the man's neck, as our dog was too good, 
and had a human face. The crowd gave the 
would-be wit the laugh, and he was hard to find 
in the town, after that — at least during our stay. 

We were entertained by some people who had 
drifted down the Mississippi River from Illinois, 
years ago, in a house boat. A number of families 
in the neighborhood of our camp baked biscuits 
on the morning of our departure, and presented 
them to us, nearly filling the compartment of our 
cart. As all were excellent, we did not venture to 
pass judgment by showing any preferences. 

From the high hill on the Mississippi side a 
fine view is obtained of the low lands in Louisiana. 

—93—' 



Our route now led us up one hill and down another, 
which was pretty hard on Dolly. The scenery was 
beautiful. The negroes had a very different way 
of tilling the soil from that which is employed in 
the North. Instead of using two horses and a 
riding plow, they used a mule and a single plow. 
The soil was of a light color, and did not seem to 
be very productive, yet the cotton crops are good. 

The next camping spot was a fine one, situ- 
ated near a spring of cold water. A negro who 
came to see us asked if we had ever seen the cane 
brakes, where run-away negroes used to hide dur- 
ing slavery days. Of course we had not seen one, 
so he took us to a cane brake near by. It was a 
strange looking place, the cane growing to all sizes 
and heights. 

Near Martin were many ox teams hauling 
loads of logs. Sometimes, ten oxen were hitched 
to one load. The hauling of these logs makes the 
roads almost impassable in places, because of the 
weight pressing the wheels down into the mud and 
making deep ruts. 

We camped one night on the land of some color- 
ed folks. They were so elated by the fact that 
they told all the negroes in the neighborhood, that 
there were some people camping on their 
place who had made a long walk. Before supper 
was over, a number of colored women came, want- 
ing to see Stella. It was dark, and they were afraid 
that if they did not get a look at her that night, 
we might be gone in the morning, so one of them 
secured a box of matches and by striking a light 
succeeded in throwing a glare on Stella's face. 
One woman said: "Ain't she pur-ty," and another 
answered: "She shore is." A third, thinking 
that it was up to her to say something, came in 

—94— 



with the remark: "She shore is a cute little trick." 
It was all very amusing to us. 

At Carpenter a lot of girls were standing on 
the platform of the depot. They laughed at the 
size of Stella's shoes, but if any one of the girls 
had tried to walk a few miles, it would have taken 
all the giggle out of her. 

On a farm that we saw, a negro woman did 
all the work, although a white man owned the 
place. She plowed and tilled the land just as a 
man would do it, but in the evening she expressed 
great sympathy for my wife, saying : 

"Say, mistah, why does yo' carry yo' wife way 
down heah?" 

I told her that I did not carry my wife; that 
she was too heavy for me to carry. She said: 

"Go on, man, I don't mean tote, what I 
means is yo' is de cause ob her gwine." 

Another time, when I was helping Stella to do 
the washing, a colored woman who saw us, ex- 
claimed : 

"If I ever gits a man, I won't wo'k him so 
hard!" 

Jackson, the capital of Mississippi, presented 
a beautiful appearance. Everything was clothed 
in green. We camped on the old capital ground, 
which is now deserted. 

Once, while walking in the direction of Merid- 
ian, we asked a colored boy about nineteen years 
of age what road to take. He directed us very 
intelligently, and then, to our amazement, we 
saw that he was blind. He said that he had been 
blind all of his life, nevertheless he could tell every 
turn in the road, and point out objects— houses 
and hills — in the neighborhood. 

The roads grew steadily worse. We passed a 
saw-mill, and the men all came out to see us go by. 

—95— 



They asked us how we liked Mississippi roads. 
Hut we in turn asked them if the roads had been 
worked since (^.eorge Washington came down and 
worked them. Indeed, the roads were so bad that 
it was not only dangerous for Dolly, but for us. 
In spots where big logs had been used, they were 
rotted out here and there, and good-sized rivers 
ran in between. Every time the cart dropped into 
a hole, we expected to see it go to smash. Dolly went 
along admirably, stepj)ing in and out of the ruts, 
while we almost held our breath. Sometimes all 
of us had to wade through water. We decided 
that we had seen the two extremes the finest and 
the worst roads in the world. 

Meridian is the last town before entering Ala- 
bama. The crowd on the streets wanted Don to 
perform, and to please the people I tried to make 
him do some tricks. A photographer took his 
picture during the process. 

Our first day in Alabama was a memorable 
one because of the delicious strawberry short-cake 
that we made. It was baked over our campfire. 
The negroes were picking the fruit and it was being 
shipped north by the car load. We purchased a 
lot of ripe berries for a low price, as those sent awjiy 
must be a little green in order that they may not 
spoil. The soil in this part of Alabama is very 
productive, and one can live comfortably on very 
little money. Land sells for about twenty dollars 
per acre. Having passed through Cuba and York, 
we arrived at Livingston, where a reporter for the 
Age-Herald, a Birmingham daily paper, met us. 
As a general thing, the newspaper men ask sensi- 
ble questions, but in this instance, we were inclined 
to resent the inference that we sometimes rode 
on the cart. As a matter of fact that would have 
been impossible, from its construction. However, 

—96— 




s -^ 



I finally persuaded the reporter that we were 
taking a walking trip, and not a ride. 

The next day's travel was over a new pike, 
with large stones that had not yet been crushed 
down. The Tombigbee River was almost out of 
its banks. The ferry, which was probably bad 
enough when the river was in its normal state, was 
considered impassable when we reached the place. 
It took several men to get us to the other side, 
but we were determined not to stay in the swamp. 
Many of the farms had been deserted on account 
of floods. In Jackson, Mississippi, we heard of 
a family that had left Louisiana because of the 
unhealthful climate, and was moving to Virginia. 
As we were going along at a pretty good gait, we 
saw two wagons coming up the road, and a man 
called out: 

"You're the man and woman I've been looking 
for a long time! I've heard of you all the way 
along!" 

A crowd collected. The man talked without 
hesitation, telling them that we were not fakes, that 
we really did walk, that he had been told by people 
all along the route that we had never been seen 
doing anything else but walking. From that time 
on we heard of the travelers from different persons, 
until they reached Virginia. 

The coal mining district of Alabama came 
next. As we left camp at Yolande, we had much 
trouble getting down a steep embankment. I 
asked Stella to hold Don, who always thinks he 
is going to do some good by barking at the horse 
when there is any difficulty. The wheels of the 
cart were old and shaky. I saw that there was 
going to be an accident, but could do nothing to 
avert it. The cart went over, throwing Dolly on 
her side. Stella was using all her strength to 

—97— 



hold the dog, but she finally turned him loose, and 
he jumped on Dolly, whom I was forcing to lie 
down so that she would not hurt herself. Don threw 
his paws around her legs and held on tightly, biting 
her on the legs, and growling and barking. I was 
afraid that he would get us into serious 
trouble. At last, Stella managed to get hold of 
him and tie him to a tree, and we got Dolly up 
from her cramped position. Dolly is without 
doubt the smartest horse in the world, for she did 
not attempt to kick or run away, but just lay there 
on the ground, seeming to know that something 
awful had happened. Stella was so frightened that 
she did not know where to begin to unharness the 
horse, so I asked her to hold Dolly's head, so that 
I could get the harness off. It is really surprising, 
how I worked around the horse, lifting her legs 
and rolling her around, and she did not attempt to 
keep me from it. When finally released, she jumped 
up seeming not to be hurt in any way. With 
the assistance of two men who came to aid us, we 
righted the cart and spliced the shafts, so that 
they lasted until we reached Bessemer. 

All this time Don was choking himself in the 
effort to break loose and mix up in the affair. 

At Birmingham, we camped on a vacant lot 
in the center of the city, and soon the whole space 
was covered with people. The representative of 
a feed company presented us with a large sack of 
feed for Dolly. She noticed when it was placed 
upon the top of the cart, and evidently she knew 
what it was, for she kept looking around to see 
if it was still there. 

After getting on the wrong road again, and 
going back, we managed to reach Springville, in 
sight of the Cahawba Mountains. 

Following the main road to Atlanta, we noticed 

—98— 



a decided difference between the people of the small 
towns and those who lived in cities. Those who 
had been brought up in villages were not so broad- 
minded as the others, and were inclined to think 
that we were fakes. On account of this peculiarity 
of the little towns, we at first decided not to go 
through Centre, but were obliged to change our 
minds because our supply of provisions needed 
replenishing. However, we were agreeably sur- 
prised, for as we approached, there was a great 
crowd on the street, and posted on a bill board 
in big letters were the words: 

"The Walking Woolfs will arrive at Centre at 
4:15". A wide awake newspaper had given the 
notice. Meeting the people of the little town was 
just like going home, for they did everything pos- 
sible to make it pleasant for us. Our camp in the 
middle of the village was surrounded by a crowd, 
and some of the boys secured a gas lamp, which 
they hung to a tree, and we told jokes around the 
campfire, and I played old, familiar tunes on the 
violin, and everybody joined in singing the songs. 
Some of the younger folks sang, "The Longest Way 
Around is the Sweetest Way Home." 

Entering Georgia the next day we camped in 
one of the most beautiful spots that could be imagin- 
ed. It was near a large spring, that sent out a 
stream fully ten feet wide. The place is known 
as Cave Springs. 

A teacher from an institution for the deaf and 
dumb came over and requested permission to bring 
the pupils of his school to see us. They came, and 
surprised us with their ability to understand what 
was going on. Their teacher explained to them 
who we were and what we were doing, and they 
made up for deficiency in hearing and speech by 
using their eyes to good advantage. 

—99— 



Passing through Rome and Kingston, we ar- 
rived at Cartersville, the old home of the evangelist, 
Sam Jones. In the vicinity of Kennesaw and 
Marietta we met several fake walkers. It seems 
that anyone who states that he is walking on a 
wager meets with respect in this country. We 
had no more than entered Kennesaw than an old 
man approached us, asking what we were doing. 
I replied that we were making an eight thousand 
mile walk. "On a wager?" he inquired. "No," 
said I. "Oh, you're just traveling, then!" We 
did not take the time to argue with him, but went 
on to Marietta, where the community also lost 
interest in us when it was ascertained that we were 
walking for our health, and not for money. 

Beyond Marietta, the City of Atlanta came into 
view. We were then crossing a portion of the 
Appalachian system of mountains. I noticed a 
bright substance in the dirt. Upon inquiry, I 
found that it was isinglass, and that there was a 
factory situated at the base of one of the moun- 
tains. We got into Atlanta at 9 o'clock. It is 
one of the most energetic, wide awake, hustling 
cities in the United States. The newspapers had 
us photographed from every angle and devoted 
much space to accounts of our travels. We ordered 
a pair of wheels from Kansas City. 

One of the strange things that always happens 
in the cities is that some small boy takes a fancy 
to our mode of living and wants to go along. This 
happened in Atlanta. As we left the place, two 
young ladies insisted on walking with us for a 
time. They were at a great disadvantage, having 
high heeled shoes and unsuitable clothing. This 
was the first time that any woman had had the 
nerve to attempt to walk with us. 

The road that we now took had been called 

—100— 



"the National Highway" by the New York Herald 
and the Atlanta Journal, but after about ten miles 
it degenerated into a common dirt road, except in 
places where certain counties had taken it upon 
themselves to make it a pike. 

Walking through Norcross and Auburn, we 
stopped for the noon luncheon. Among the crowd 
wsts a little boy who saw me eating peanuts. I 
asked him if there was anything that I could do 
for him. He replied that he would like to have 
some of those "gubers." I did not understand 
what he meant by "gubers", but soon found out 
that it was peanuts. 

After going through a number of very friendly 
small towns, we crossed the Tugaloo River on an 
old bridge, built in 1846 by the slaves. 

It is one of the few bridges that was not burned 
down in war times. There were initials and other 
marks made upon the wood before the Civil War. 
In this section, convict labor is used for improving 
the roads. It seemed to be the custom in the 
rural districts for the girls and women to work in 
the fields. A little girl confided to us that she 
longed to travel all over the world on foot; that 
she did not want to spend her life in one spot, 
hoeing potatoes and plowing corn. 

Before reaching Anderson we were informed 
that the town possessed the largest sheriff in the 
world. Someone told him that we wished to see 
him and he came down to our camp. As we stood 
beside him to be photographed, the contrast in our 
height was comical. He is seven feet tall, and 
weighs four hundred and twenty-five pounds. 

The soil in the part of the country through 
which we were now walking is odd-looking, but 
exceedingly productive. Another thing that we 
noticed in Georgia was that more white people were 

—101— 



tilling the soil than in the states of Mississippi and 
Alabama. 

In the rolling lands the ground is plowed in the 
form of a circle to keep the water from washing 
the earth away. Natural, winding roads lead up 
through the hills, and the scenery is very fine. Land 
sells for about one hundred dollars per acre. 

We had seen cotton planted — in Oklahoma and 
Texas— and harvested. It was interesting, now, to 
see the cotton mills. One cannot but feel deep 
sympathy for the little children and poor, faded- 
cheeked people who spend their lives in the mills, 
commencing to work when very young, and never 
knowing anything else as long as they live. 

Stella talked with a group of young girls, 
whom she met outside of one of these mills, during 
.their brief luncheon hour, and she said that every 
one of the group chewed tobacco the same as the men. 
They told her that it was necessary on account of the 
lint and dust which they were constantly breathing 
while at work. The hours were from six to six, 
with Saturday afternoons off, and the wages range- 
ed from seventy-live cents to one dollar per day for 
common labor, and higher wages for weavers and 
other experts, according to their ability. 

Some of the towns through which we passed 
were far behind the times in many ways. Some- 
times, girls or women laughed at Stella 's masculine 
shoes, or her dress. They did not seem to under- 
stand that a woman who has the nerve to start 
out on an eight thousand mile walk, must, of 
necessity dress comfortably and appropriately for 
the journey. 

It is to be hoped that the National Highway, 
which is in course of construction, will be the 
means of educating the inhabitants of the two 
Carolinas. 

—102-- 



In Gaffney, South Carolina, we met two very 
pleasant and intelligent couples. One of the wives, 
who worked in a mill, had sustained a frightful 
accident a few years ago. Her hair had gotten 
tangled in the machinery and one whole side of 
the scalp had been torn off. The terrible wound 
still showed, although the hair from the other 
side had been combed over so as to conceal the 
injury as far as possible. 

Convict camps are a common sight in the country 
districts. Talking with two white prisoners, who 
seemed to be free to go where they pleased while 
at work, we were informed by one of them that 
he "got in for killin' a nigger." His sentence 
was a five year ^ne, but he was practically free, 
although compelled to wear the stripes. The 
fact came out afterward, that the man had killed 
the negro in cold blood, shooting him down because 
he had refused to bring the white ruffian a drink. 

Blacksburg, a small town on the route, had 
become so religious that there was not even a drug 
store open nor anyone to be seen at his home or 
on the streets, on Sunday. Stella tried to get a 
drink from the town pump, but it was not working 
either. 

That night we camped close to Kings Mountain, 
where George Washington fought a decisive battle 
during the Revolutionary War. 

The Blue Ridge Mountains were in sight. The 
air was delightful and the scenery beautiful. 
I accidently dropped my faithful walking stick in 
a well, which had been given me by a friend in 
Georgia. I regretted it, as it was what I used to 
defend Don with when other dogs ran after him. 
However, the owner of the well afterward got the 
stick out and sent it to me at Richmond, Virginia, 

—103— 



with an inscription of his name and the date on 
which I had lost it. 

The weather was getting warm, so we decided 
to change our rule, and rise at four o'clock and pack 
our outfit and walk until about nine-thirty o'clock, 
and when the sun came out good and hot, hunt for 
a shady spot by some nice little brook, and rest 
for three or four hours. We followed the plan 
until we left Virginia. The hours of rest were 
beneficial to all, including Dolly and Don. 

Near Charlotte, North Carolina, we stopped 
and borrowed some tubs and washed our clothes. 
It was a matter of great pride to us that we always 
kept ourselves clean, although it was impossible 
to keep our clothes from becoming faded. 

Our reception at Newell was a most pleasant 
one. Most of the villages in the Carolinas were 
very slow. Civilization was backward. The peo- 
ple were poor. The majority of them were hands 
and earned only about seventy-five cents or one 
dollar per day. The houses in which they live 
are usually owned by the mill corporations, and 
the hands are charged seventy-five cents a room 
per month for rental. The children begin to work 
at thirteen years of age. They are scarcely able 
to read or write, and often grow up in ignorance. 

The soil is of a reddish color, and when it gets 
into the clothes it is hard to get it out. Excellent 
camping spots are plentiful, as there are lots of 
trees, hills and small brooks. The air is invigor- 
ating, but we noticed that windows in almost 
every house were tightly closed. This was not con- 
fined to one town but was the case everywhere. 

At High Point and Greensboro we met inter- 
esting people. Leaving the latter town, we took 
the Danville road. It was a pike for a short dis- 
tance out of the village. The county had been 

—104— 




— H en 



J3 



awarded a prize for having the best road in the 
state. 

In Danville, Virginia, a man whom we had 
seen in Wichita, Kansas, then in Oklahoma City, 
came up to talk to us. 

In order to avoid the boggy roads, we decided 
to go by way of Lynchburg, on the automobile thor- 
oughfare, which we did for a day, then we turned 
toward Chatham, and branched off to the East. 
In places along the roads, the water was knee deep. 

There was a strange, loud noise coming from 
the trees in all directions. It turned out that the 
sound was made by seventeen-year locusts, who 
were making their periodical visit. It appears 
that they go into the ground and remain for seven- 
teen years and then again come forth, shedding 
their skins, many of which were lying on the 
ground. 

We had been traveling where the southern 
accent was strong. But the dialect was now begin- 
ning to change, and the accent was growing very 
pretty. A peculiar circumstance was that we 
often found ourselves thoughtlessly adopting the 
manner of speaking that was customary where we 
happened to be. 

The country from Danville to Richmond was 
sparsely settled. With the permission of a gentle- 
man who had read of our trip in the Danville Bee, 
we camped on his place near a fine spring. The 
water was clear, cold and sparkling and we drank 
until our thirst was fully satisfied. A person who 
lives in the city can only dream of such luxury. 
The families which we came in contact with were 
the very essence of friendliness. 

In the far South, the wells were large and 
open, with windlasses. In Virginia were drilled 
wells encased in boxing, and the water was drawn 

—105— 



in a long, slim bucket. Another style of old well 
was the kind that has a sweep, or long pole with 
a weight attached. Many times did we think 
of the song, "The Old Oaken Bucket," as we drew 
forth from a deep, old-fashioned well the moss 
covered bucket and refreshed ourselves therefrom, 
tipping it over so that we could drink out of the 
side, and spurning such a thing as a cup. Forget- 
ting our past life in the city, with its artificial ex- 
istence, we leaned over the side of the well and 
looked down at the glassy depths and saw our 
reflection in the water. And we breathed a prayer 
of thankfulness to the Almighty Power, the Maker 
of all natural life and beauty, that we had escaped 
from the thralldom of monotony and had gotten out 
with nature and gained a little knowledge of her 
lessons. 

In Eastern Virginia I noticed that the manner 
of speech differed somewhat from that to which 
we had become accustomed in other parts of the 
state. The next town was what I should have 
called Charlotte. I asked a gentleman whom we 
met the name of the place. He said: "Charlotte 
Cou't Ouse?" I afterward noted that was the 
usual way of referring to county seat towns. 

At Hampton-Sidney College we had the 
pleasure of meeting the most intelligent lot of boys 
that we had seen on the trip. Although they 
were bent on having as much fun as possible out 
of us, we soon made friends with them. I gave a 
little concert, and played the highest class of music, 
which was appreciated by the boys. A crowd of 
them walked to Farmville with us. The young man 
who walked with Stella got red in the face, and had 
to take off his coat, as we were going at a pretty 
stiff gait. 

From Farmville, our route lay along a minia- 

—106— 



ture railroad track, but we soon learned that it 
was merely a narrow guage line that was so con- 
structed as to support full grown locomotives. 
On the side of the cars were the words: "Tidewater 
and Western." It reminded me of the book, "A 
Slow Train Through Arkansas," or "Through 
Missouri on a Mule." Then I thought of our own 
primative method of locomotion. 

After all, happiness does not lie in an advanced 
state of civilization, as that word is understood 
by the majority of persons. Luxury is not really 
conducive to happiness, but the simple life, the 
wild forest with air laden with sweet perfume, the 
running brook, and the companionship of one 
whom we love do constitute real happiness. 

Going through Cumberland, we arrived at 
Richmond by way of Manchester. Richmond is 
filled with historic interest. We were photographed 
in front of General Robert E. Lee's old home, 
which is next to the post-office. The famous 
Southern General maintained a place of residence 
in the house from 1861 to 1865 . It is now used by 
the Virginia Historical Society, as a museum for 
relics of the Civil War. We were also photo- 
graphed in front of Jefferson Davis' old home, 
known as the White House of the Confederacy. 
That building, also, is now used as a museum. 
We visited the place where George Washington 
had established headquarters during the Revolu- 
tionary War. The structure was low-ceilinged 
and small. The guide was very entertaining. He 
pointed out everything of interest. 

"This is the room that was occupied by George 
Washington, and this one was occupied by LaFay- 
ette," he said, indicating two apartments, one 
opposite the other. Pulling off a handful of plaster 
and handing it to Stella, the caretaker said : 

—107— 



"This is a souvenir from the library wall of 
La Fayette. Just notice how they made plaster 
in those days. It has stuck tight all these years, 
but no wonder, for they put real wool in it." He 
pulled out some shreds of wool to prove his state- 
ment. He told us the history of the building, 
which was the oldest one in Richmond. It had 
escaped the ravages of the Civil War. The house 
was the one in which Washington and La Fayette 
held conference before the fall of Yorktown. 

As we stood there, casting our eyes over the 
quaint old building and its surroundings, our 
minds wandered back to the days when George 
Washington lived. In those days people lived 
pure, simple, natural lives. Their houses were 
built for comfort, not style. In the main room 
was an open fire, piled high with blazing logs, send- 
ing out good cheer. The stalwart, brave men of 
those days were made rugged by the way they 
lived. Instead of getting on a street car to ride 
two or three blocks, they walked and exercised 
their muscles. Perhaps it was a fortunate thing 
for them that such things as street cars were un- 
known, and that journeys were made in wagons 
or stage coaches, in which they could breathe the 
pure air. 

It is a wonderful thing for the health when 
ones meals are cooked in the open, over a camp- 
fire; when one lies down at night to sleep upon a 
bed of boughs under a clear sky. There would be 
no fear of germs — in fact, they would become 
practically unknown — if the present generation 
would eat wholesome food, breathe plenty of fresh 
air and take proper exercise. And what a multi- 
tude of doctors, healers and dispensers of drugs 
would have to go out of business' 

—108— 



We took a picture of the building with the 
interesting old gentleman standing in the doorway 
with an ancient musket across his arm. 

Don knows that the cart belongs to us, and 
while we were in Richmond, it was put in a 
livery stable. After it had been placed in an ele- 
vator and taken up on the second floor, and Dolly 
had been cared for, in her stall, Don ran back up 
the stairs to see if Dolly was all right. He came 
down, jumping and twisting himself around, satis- 
fied that everything was as it should be. He seem- 
ed to consider himself the overseer of all of us. 
The next morning, when we arrived at the stable, 
he commenced to sniff around for the cart, look- 
ing every imaginable place. He had been watch- 
ing Dolly the day before, and had not noticed that 
the cart, also, had been put away on the floor above. 
Not being able to find our belongings, he sat down 
on his haunches, the very picture of despair. Just 
then, he glanced up and saw the cart descending 
slowly on the elevator. His eyes brightened; his 
ears stood up, and then he leaped into the air and 
jumped on the elevator beside the cart, barking 
like mad and cutting every caper known to a dog. 

Neither Don nor Dolly like the crowds that 
surround us on the streets. Don curls himself up 
like a ball, so that his tail can hardly be distin- 
guished from his head, and the people usually step 
on him as they go around the cart. Then he springs 
up and snaps at their feet, whining and crying, but 
he never really bites anyone. Don always begins 
to sit up and whine when he gets into a city. 
Dolly does not particularly enjoy being poked in 
the ribs by mischievous boys, and she, too, is 
usually on the defensive. She never fails to 
nip at some one as folks pass her. When she 
became too clever at her new art, we had to put a 

—109— 



muzzle on her when we entered a city. But it is 
almost as bad as a parent teasing his child then 
whipping it for its actions afterward. 

We left Richmond on what is known as the 
Old Telegraph Road, leading to Alexandria, Vir- 
ginia, where we crossed the Potomac River and 
entered Washington. We camped that night, at 
an ideal spot seven miles from Richmond. When 
supper was over, a voice came out of the darkness, 
saying : 

"Would you'se, please ma'am, give me a 
match?" 

Stella was very much startled, and stepped 
back into the tent. Don rushed out fiercely, 
growling at the visitor. Holding the dog by the 
collar, I approached the man and gave him some 
matches. He then asked for a drink of water, 
saying : 

"Hold that dog, mister, I don't want him to 
jump on me." 

I saw at a glance that he was a tramp, 
and not being able to determine on such short ac- 
quaintance whether or not he was harmless, I 
refused his next request by an evasive answer. He 
had asked to be allowed to sleep in an old shed 
near by. By this time the storm was upon us, 
and as the tramp turned to walk away, saying, 
"All right, I don't wish to discommode you," I 
saw that he was lame. But it was too late to re- 
call him, as he quickly disappeared, but my selfish 
act of fear caused a chill to settle in my heart. I 
could not dispel the feeling that I had for com- 
mitting such an act of cruelty, in not giving the 
poor creature the permission for which he had 
asked. 

To make the situation all the more wierd, 
a frightful electrical storm tore loose from the heav- 

—110— 



ens. It seemed as if the whole universe was ablaze 
with fire. The wind was a gale, and notwithstand- 
ing the fact that we held the tent with all our 
strength, it broke from our grasp and left us in a 
drenching rain. Groping close to the ground with 
our blankets wound around us, we finally reached 
the shed, the shelter that we had denied the poor 
tramp. 

It was several hours before we could rescue 
our tent and set it up again. The cots and blankets 
were soaked, and there was no sleep for us that 
night. But from that time, I vowed that when 
ever I had a chance to help a fellow being I 
would do so. 

This incident brought to my mind most vividly 
the idea that humanity has been in a rut since the 
earliest ages. What a small amount of real fellow- 
ship there is in this big, selfish world ! What dis- 
trust of our fellow man! What lack of intuitive 
power to read human nature! All animal life 
seems to prey, the one against the other — the 
strong against the weak. Yet, back of it all, there 
is the guiding power of love, charity and compassion, 
if mankind would only develop it more fully. 

The day after the storm, we had our first fried 
chicken — and it brought to mind what had often 
been jokingly said to us : 

"Well, I don't suppose it costs you much for 
your eating?" 

Of course, it would have been unwise to resent 
the insinuations. But one day I had a good chance 
to get it back at a groceryman. I went into his 
store to buy a peck of potatoes. In an off hand 
manner, he remarked, slyly winking at a bystander : 

"What's the matter? Are potatoes scarce 
along the road?" 

I waited a moment so as to let everyone get 

—111— 



through laughing at the witty grocer 's words, then 
clearly responded : 

"There are plenty of potatoes along the road, 
but I haven't any grocery store in which to peddle 
them." 

A couple of days after the incident of meeting 
the tramp, we were taking our noonday nap. We 
were lying on our cots, stretched out under a shady 
tree by the roadside. The noise of footsteps and 
voices awakened us. A familiar voice said: 

"There they are! That's those people I read 
about in the Richmond paper who are taking that 
long walk." 

Rousing ourselves, we saw the tramp who had 
frightened us a few nights before. This time he 
had three associates with him, a tall, lanky Irish- 
man and two younger boys who did not look the 
part that they were filling. They did not attempt 
tolstop and talk with us, but merely nodded their 
heads and said "Howdy-do." Thatsame afternoon, 
we passed them in a little town, and fearing that 
the residents of the place might think that we be- 
longed to their party, we hurried by them as fast 
as possible, getting several miles in advance of 
them. As darkness came on, we decided not to 
risk camping alone, so obtained permission to pitch 
our tent on a farm, close to the house. We had 
just gotten ourselves straightened around, when 
here the tramps came, along the road, the tall 
Irishman singing a noisy ballad at the top of his 
voice, and the two young recruits pelting each 
other with apples, which they had evidently taken 
from some unsuspecting farmer's orchard. They 
again spoke to us, but did not attempt to stop. 

Eight months from the day we left home, we 
arrived in Fredericksburg, Virginia. During the 
«ntire trip, we had not seen a town that was so 

—112— 




"Walking Woolfs" photographed in front of Gen. Robert 
E. Lee's old home in Richmond, Va. 



quaint and old-fashioned as was Fredericksburg. 
The houses wear a stern, austere appearance, like 
that of a prim schoolma'am; their plain, two- 
story walls of brick; the numerous windows with 
their many panes of glass; the little door step in 
front, and the wide chimneys, all made me think 
of the days that are no more. Again I thought 
of our forefathers — of the simplicity of their lives; 
of the grand, lofty object of liberty that inspired 
their valorous deeds. I thought of the time when 
graft was unknown and fidelity and honesty were 
the ruling principles. 

We visited the house that was once the home 
of the mother of George Washington. It seemed 
almost sacrilegious to enter the house dedicated to 
her memory. 

Happening into a barber shop, I saw two men 
playing checkers. It is one of my favorite games, 
and not being able to see a game in progress, with- 
out taking a hand, myself, I ventured to ask the 
winner to play with me. A bystander gave me a 
contemptuous look, as if to say: "Who are you?" 
and then remarked: 

"Well, stranger, you don't know who you are 
tackling. That fellow is the champion of Freder- 
icksburg." 

"AH right," I said, "he won't have much to 
do to beat me." 

The first two games were mine. But I had 
not counted on the tactics that he would employ 
in the third game. He knew that he was losing 
his championship and evidently did not like the 
murmur that was going around the room, as he 
was steadily losing. So he commenced to try to 
take my attention from the game by saying, 
"There's no doubt about it, a man that travels 

—113— 



around over the country like you do is sure to 
broaden his mind." 

He continued to make similar remarks during 
the entire game. Finally, I refused to answer him, 
and kept my lips tightly closed and my eyes on the 
checker-board. But he had distracted my atten- 
tion to such an extent that he won the third game. 
However, on the one that followed, I took my 
time in moving, studying them closely before I 
moved my men. He rattled along meaninglessly, 
as he had before, and as I sat there looking at the 
checkers, and did not make a move, he said, with 
some irritableness of manner: 

"What's the matter? Why don't you move?" 

"Well, as soon as you get through with that 
little vaudeville performance, I will move," I re- 
plied. 

At that he quieted down and we were still 
fighting the game when Stella came in the door, 
and with a surprised look, said : 

"I've been looking all over this town for )^ou. 
It's time that we were going." 

I left with the honors all in my favor, excepting 
the third game, which he had succeeded in talking 
me out of. Some of the spectators informed me 
that they were glad that a stranger could drop 
into town and show that fellow something. 

There is an old saying: "Improvement comes 
with age," but it is not applicable to the road 
question, especially in Virginia. We were now 
passing through the oldest part of the United 
States, being only a short distance from James- 
town, the first settlement in America. The roads 
are evidently just about the same, if not a little 
worse, than they were at that historic date. 

When we left Fredericksburg, we crossed the 
Rappahannock River and started out on the 

—114— 



Washington thoroughfare, which we naturally 
supposed would be an up-to-date pike. To our 
surprise, after we had gotten a short distance from 
town, the road gradually turned into a guUey. I 
had to lead Dolly down into the deep rut and let 
the wheels take the sides where it was not washed 
out. 

Every moment it seemed as if the wheels would 
break or the cart upset. Stella was behind the 
cart, bracing it with all her might. We got out 
of one difficulty, only to find ourselves in another. 
Soon we came to a place where grading had been 
done recently, and the dirt thrown up had been 
rained on, and was nothing more nor less than a quag- 
mire. Out in the middle of the mire, something 
snapped like a pistol shot. It was a tug that had 
broken, square off. We were in a serious predica- 
ment out in the wilderness. Not a house was in 
sight. The last one passed was fully three miles 
away. I tried to fix the tug, but to no avail. 
Darkness was coming on and a drizzling rain had 
set in, making our situation all the worse. 

Finally a happy thought came to Stella. She 
said: 

"Why can't we use the lariet rope in place of 
the tug?" 

"Why, that's right, we can," I replied, at once 
getting the rope out and doubling it. I fastened 
it to Dolly's collar and then to the singletree. 

We tried to get the horse to pull the cart out 
of the mud, but she made an effort two or three 
times and then began to shake her head and snort. 
Then she got one of her balky spells. Darkness, 
had now settled around us. We must do something 
and that soon. So, taking the shovel from the cart , 
I went to work to dig the mud away from the 
wheels. A sudden inspiration must have seized 

—115— 



Dolly, for she gave a terrific plunge and started 
forward, jerking the cart out of the mire and almost 
breaking it to pieces. She ran up the hill like 
mad, we following the best we could, every step 
jerking our feet out of thick mud. 

Extricated from our plight by Dolly, we looked 
for a place to camp. Finally, coming to a brook 
at the foot of a hill, Stella said: 

"Give me the water pail, I'm going to get a 
pail of water, and when we reach the top of the 
hill, we will camp." 

But before we reached the top of the hill, we 
had steadily climbed for over half a mile, and 
the water was not any too light, nor was my wife's 
temper in any too peaceable state. However, she 
is always a good partner, and difficulties have to 
come thick and fast before she makes any com- 
plaint. 

By the light of a blazing camp-fire, we cooked 
and ate our supper, and being worn out by the 
hard day's travel, we were soon sound asleep. 

In the middle of the night we were awakened 
by the cry : 

"Fo' de good Lawd's sake, what's dis heah 
white thing by de side ob de road?" and a negro's 
voice again said, with a sound of pain: 

"Take dis dog off me! Oh, take dis dog off!" 

I sprang up and ran outside of the tent. Don 
was holding to a negro's leg, and the poor creature, 
badly frightened, was wildly beating the air with 
his fists. I called to the dog, and he immediately 
loosened his hold on the negro. The man fled down 
the road so rapidly that I had no chance to learn if 
he were badly wounded. The excitement broke 
up our sleep for that night. As soon as daylight 
commenced to dawn, we heard footsteps coming 
down the road. Footsteps in that lonely, unfre- 

—116— 



quented region were something to excite attention 
at any time, but now, to our surprise, we beheld 
the four tramps, one behind the other, marching 
solemnly and in perfect time along the road to- 
ward us. 

Despite our dread of them, we had to laugh, 
and I called out: 

"Hello, boys! How are you? Where are you 
going so early in the morning?" 

This broke the ice, and the attitude of the 
tramps at once assumed an air of sociability. 
The leader of the four, who was the lame man 
whom we had met some time before, said : 

"We're goin' to Washington to hunt work. 
Heard about you back in Richmond." 

Stella then asked him: 

"Where did you stay last night?" 

He answered: 

"Did you notice that old barn down the road 
a piece? That's where we slept last night." 

"Did you hear anyone last night?" said one 
of the tramps. He continued: "About four 
o 'clock this morning we heard a negro hollering at 
the top of his voice, as he passed the barn: 'O, 
Lawd save me! Save me from de ghosts and de 
dog.' As far down the road as we could hear him, 
he was still hollering. ' ' 

We told them of our experience with the negro, 
and they all laughed and said : 

"Well, so long; I guess we're all going the same 
direction and will meet again." 

Our fear was now banished. We understood 
that they were harmless and friendly. Little did 
we know how lucky our meeting with them would 
prove to be, even before many hours had passed. 
We had walked only a couple of hours when we 
came to a little town known as Stafford Court 

—117— 



House. In the center of the village was an old, 
black looking building — doubtless, the county 
jail. It was very early in the morning, and we 
were surprised to see the four tramps in front of 
a little store, that had not yet opened for business. 
Three of them were sitting on the porch of the 
store building, whistling, singing and dangling 
their feet to the ground, and the fourth one was out 
in the middle of the street, bantering an old game 
rooster, making a noise that sounded like "cockel- 
doodel-doo," and sidling around the rooster, which 
was spreading its wings to the ground, sticking out 
its spurs and flopping up against the legs of its 
tormentor, endeavoring, no doubt, to induce him 
and his pals to get on out of town. As we got 
near, I said: 

"Hello, boys, what are you doing here! I 
supposed that you would be miles ahead of us by 
this time!" 

The lame one spoke up: 

"We're just waiting for the storekeeper to 
come down and open up, so we can get something 
for breakfast." 

"Why, that's funny," said I, "I should think 
by this time you wouldn't need anyone to open the 
store — as many windows as there are." 

"Well, that's right," he said," but you see 
that black looking cage over there, don't you? It 
looks like it would be pretty hard to get out of." 

Supposing that we would pass through another 
little village that same day, we did not lay in a sup- 
ply of provisions, as we should have done. Again 
we were compelled to travel over bad roads. All 
day long we struggled with the cart to keep it 
right side up. Suddenly we found ourselves in 
a swamp. It was the old Telegraph road. There 
were wires ahead, but no tracks to follow. Hav- 

—118— 



ing no chance to turn around, we had to go on. 
We gave Dolly the right of way, and she started 
through the water. Don was frantically keeping 
up with her and jumping at her head. We followed 
as best we could, holding our breaths as one wheel 
of the cart went up in the air and was suspended 
there for an instant. Dolly, faithful little animal 
that she was, pulled steadily on and finally landed 
the cart outside of the swamp in the road beyond. 
As for us, we were covered with mud and slime 
from head to foot. 

We had nothing to eat, but rest and dry clothes 
were more to us than satisfying our hunger. So we 
camped near a little stream, and made a blazing 
fire. While drying our clothes, we heard voices 
across the creek, but did not know that they were 
directed to us, so did not answer. Soon, we looked 
up and saw the four tramps coming toward us. 
"Why, hello!" said one of them, "How did you get 
through today?" 

We told him of our trouble. 

"Why didn't you take the other road?" said 
another one. "A man told us about the swamp, 
and how to get around it, and we thought you 
would too." 

' ' Well, all 's well that ends well, "I said, "but it 's 
not ended yet. We expected to pass some kind 
of a store or farm house where we could get provis- 
ions, but we could find no one living near the road, 
and we have kept on. Now it's supper time, and 
we have nothing to cook." 

The lame fellow looked at the rest inquiringly, 
and then back at us: 

"We are as bad off as you are. There wasn't 
a house along the road that we could hit for a hand 
out, and all we've got is some coffee," and then 
he pulled out of his pocket a greasy looking paper 

—119— 



containing some ground coffee. "Here's my coffee 
pot, too," he said, producing a blackened tin can 
from the other pocket. "Come on, boys!" he call- 
ed, and turning to me: "We are going across on 
the other side of the creek. I think I saw a house 
over there. If they won't donate anything to the 
cause, we'll find something." And the four tramps 
disappeared down the road. 

We had almost given up their coming back, 
and were about to retire with empty stomachs, 
when we heard them coming. They were laughing 
and talking. 

"Hold that dog, friend," said one of them, 
"we're loaded down and can't run as fast as that 
nigger did the other night." 

I jumped up and got Don by the collar. He 
was growling and trying to get away, but upon 
recognizing the friendly voices of the tramps, he 
went up to them, wagging his tail and barking for 
joy, as he seemed to realize that there was some- 
thing to eat at hand. 

The men unloaded. The lame one was carry- 
ing a big, fat rooster. Another man had potatoes, 
turnips and various other things, and a third had 
bread and milk, which he set carefully on the 
ground. 

"How does this look for a blow-out?" the lame 
fellow said. "We'll get together now and have a 
real 'Mulligan stew,' like you've read about." 

Stella did not stand back, this time, but hur- 
ried around getting ready the vessels in which to 
cook the stew, and I hastily threw a lot of brush 
and wood on the fire, which burned up brightl)'^, 
and made everything as clear as day. 

Each one set to work to do his part. The 
rooster was scalded, picked, and prepared for the 
stew. Stella got the Dutch oven out of the cart 

—120— 




"Walking Woolfs" caught for a picture in front of 
Washington's Monument while in Richmond, Va. 



and set it over the fire with plenty of water in it; 
and our old black coffee pot had its place over the 
blazing coals. 

It was nearly midnight when the famous stew 
was ready to serve. During the whole evening, 
we were kept laughing at the jokes and anecdotes 
of the four. 

As we encircled the campfire, each with a pan 
of the savory stew on his lap and a large hunk of 
bread and cup of coffee in his hands, I could not 
help but think of the strange meeting with these 
tramps, and wonder what had been the cause of 
their following their present lives. I asked the 
lame one how long he had been on the road. He 
said: 

"I've been a hobo since I was nine years old, 
and I'm now forty -four." 

Thinking that by this time I knew him well 
enough to ask another question, I said: 

"There's an old saying that you must not 
look a gift horse in the mouth, but I just want to 
ask you one more question, if you don't mind: 
Where did you get that old rooster that we have 
got in the stew?" 

At this he burst out into a laugh: 

"You saw that old rooster back at Stafford 
Court House, when I was bantering him, didn't 
you? Well, that's the boy. After you left us, 
no one else being around, I just took out this sling 
shot (producing one from his pocket) and popped 
him over and then wrapped him up in my coat. I 
feared that before the day was over we might all 
get hungry." 

This capped the climax. We were in debt to 
him for supper. I sat there, thinking over 
the situation, and seeing all these generous, friendly 
faces before us. Weird as the situation was, Stella 

—121— 



and I turned to each other and remarked: "This* 
is great; a friend in need is a friend, indeed." Why 
could we not have been as big-hearted and generous 
as was this poor fellow. Instead, we had shown 
suspicion and turned him away the night of the 
storm. We spoke about it, but he said: 

"Oh, don't let that bother you. You were 
just a little afraid of me, and I knew it. That often 
happens to tramps, but really we are a harmless 
lot, and pretty good fellows when we have a 
chance." 

It was nearly morning when the odd-looking 
group dispersed, the tramps going to an old, vacant 
barn across the creek, which place they had chosen 
for lodgings, when they happened to hear our 
voices and came to our assistance. 

The next morning we did not get up very 
early, and our appetites were greatly tempted by 
the sight of delicious looking red cherries, with 
which the trees — just inside the fence — along the 
road were loaded down. Stella wanted me to go 
up to the house and buy some, but we had gotten 
such a late start that I felt that we must not 
lose any more time, not even for cherries. We 
had gone only a short distance, when we began to 
see sprigs of the cherry trees strewn all along the 
road. Just as we came to the top of a hill, we saw 
our tramp friends a few yards ahead of us. Every 
one of them was loaded down with cherry branches. 

"Here, we have some cherries," said the big 
Irishman, "We've had more than we can eat," and 
they loaded us down with the branches filled with 
cherries. "We saw them, and just took them," 
said one. "We believe in helping ourselves when 
we see something good." 

We were now close to the parting of the ways. 
The boys had told us that they were going to enter 

—122— 



Washington that evening, and we intended to 
wait over, arriving at the city the next day. After 
a few friendly words and a hand-clasp all around, 
we bade the four tramps good-bye, as this, no 
doubt, would be our last meeting. They disap- 
peared down the road, waving their red and blue 
bandana handkerchiefs. A little homely philoso- 
phy may be appropriate in connection with the 
incident of the tramps. What a pity it is that 
everybody cannot be as kind and generous as were 
those four unfortunates. 

One night, while we were asleep, we were 
awakened by something being thrown into the 
tent, hitting against the cots. Frightened by the 
noise, and thinking that something must have fallen 
from the trees, we sat up. Just then a man's 
voice said: 

"Hey, there, come out and have a drink!" 

It dawned upon us that the man was drunk 
and that he might do us some harm, so I put my 
head out, cautiously, and said: 

"What did you say?" 

"Come out of there and be friendly and drink 
with me," he called, with an oath. 

By moonlight, I could see that he was on horse- 
back. He was evidently getting home late Satur- 
day night. I told him to wait a minute and I 
would come out. But I did not drink any of the 
contents of the bottle which he offered to me. I 
pretended to, allowing it to run down on the ground. 
The drunken intruder was satisfied, and soon left 
us without further molestation. 

For many months we had lived in close com- 
munion with nature. The trees and sky had been 
our canopy. The brooks had quenched our thirst, 
and wild berries and vegetation had been to some 
extent, our sustenance. 

—123— 



We were now about to cross the boundary 
line that would separate us from the simple life, 
into an artificial existence in a great city. As we 
realized this, our hearts sank. We were like child- 
ren, emerging into maturity, and soon to leave 
the faithful mother who had watched over our 
development, knowing the time was near at hand 
when her care would be no longer needed. 

Crossing the Potomac River, we realized the 
situation fully, and both felt like shedding tears, 
for we knew that beyond, on the other bank, lay 
the strenuous life that we would soon enter, and 
that it would continue for the greater part of our 
journey. Beautiful, secluded camping spots would 
be few and far between. We were leaving the 
woods and streams of Dixieland behind us. In 
their place would be advanced civilization with 
all of its limitations. 

When we were in Washington, a gentleman, 
seeing the rope that we were still using instead of 
the broken tug, asked me if I would be offended 
if he made me a present. I told him no, and soon 
afterward he came up to the cart, holding a pair 
of new hames and tugs. 

"Now," he said, "all I ask of you is to give 
me the old pieces of your harness for a souvenir." 

Out of Washington, we got on the wrong road, 
and spent the first night in the suburb of Benning. 
A queer old lady came to see us, telling us that she 
had noticed our little camp over among the trees; 
that she had traveled in a wagon, years ago and 
had enjoyed it so much that she could not resist 
paying us a visit. 

The Baltimore pike seems to be a favorite 
resort of tramps. We saw them everywhere along 
the road; lying at full length on the grass under 
the trees, or going in all directions. A woman with 

V —124— 



whom we talked about it told us that when she 
did her weekly baking, she always baked several 
extra loaves of bread for the tramps. A jovial 
farmer pointed out to us a tramp house which he 
had built for the accommodation of the "Buddies," 
as he termed them. He said that for many years 
he had been bothered by tramps wanting to sleep 
in his barn, that he finally fenced off a little corner 
of his farm and built a genuine house with every 
convenience in it for cooking and sleeping. He 
said that the building was seldom vacant, and 
rooms had to be engaged in advance; that the 
tramps were not bad fellows, and that he always 
got plenty of work out of them and made good 
friends of them. 

"Why, I 've seen some of the boys for the last 
thirty years," he said. "They just start out from 
New York and walk to Washington, and then start 
out again from Washington and walk back to New 
York. I used to beat around the world a good deal 
myself, before I settled down, and I walked too, but 
in those days we were called tramps. Now, anyone 
that walks is a pedestrian," and he laughed heart- 
ily at his own wit. 

In Baltimore, we were met with extreme cor- 
diality by both the police and the people. As we 
stopped, several big, fine policemen came to us with 
a salute, and said: 

"Welcome to our city. We've heard all about 
you, and knew, from the Washington papers, that 
you were coming." 

Poor Don had a very sore foot, caused by 
Dolly's backing the cart over it and taking off two 
of his toe nails. A very sympathetic man in the 
crowd stepped forward when he saw the accident, 
and handed Stella a bottle and some absorbent 
cotton, telling her to doctor the poor dog's foot 

—125— 



right away. She washed the foot, bathed it witk 
the medicine and wrapped it in absorbent cotton, 
and from that time it seemed to us that all Baltimore 
was asking questions about how Don got his foot 
hurt, and all the humane officers in town got after 
us. However, they did not have much of a case, 
as Don was well taken care of. One little boy 
insisted on getting him some bones, another got 
him a drink, and others stood around patting and 
telling him what a fine dog he was, until it is a 
wonder that his head was not turned by so much 
attention and flattery. 

One of the novel features of our trip, and one 
that seemed to attract Baltimore people was the 
number of business cards and visiting cards tacked 
to the cart. We found a new one, different from 
all others, which was put on in Baltimore, evidently 
by some of the always present and appreciative 
little newsboys. On a scrap of paper tacked to 
the cart, these words were scribbled: 
"This man and this lady is true 
And so is Don, the traveling dog, too." 
It touched our hearts, for we knew that it came 
from the depths of some small boy's innermost 
feelings. 

The first night that we were in Baltimore, a 
gentleman came up to us on the street and asked 
what our route would be, and howfar we were going. 
I replied that we were going to Boston. He im- 
mediately said: 

"You'd better not go there. You will find 
Boston people cold and unfriendly — not a bit like 
the people of the South. Why, if you or your par- 
ents or some of your people didn't graduate from 
Harvard, they wouldn't condescend to give you 
a second glance." 

— 12i— 



Just then a very pleasant-faced man stepped 
from the crowd, and said: 

"Please pardon me, gentlemen, for intruding, 
but I am a native of Boston. You just come up 
to Boston, and you will be treated all right." 

Quite a controversy was started in regard to 
the hospitality of their respective sections of the 
country, and I left them still talking, but first ac- 
cepted the proffered card of the latter gentleman, 
who told me to be sure to call him by telephone 
when we reached Boston. 

From this incident grew a series of meetings 
with the New Englander, who was a traveling 
salesman. Our ways seemed to lie along the same 
route, and we met him in several different cities. 




—127- 



Tramping and Camping 

IN THE 

North Atlantic States. 



BY DWIGHT H. WOOLF. 

f """^"f EAVING Baltimore, we walked under a 
I -w- I railroad bridge over which a train was 
- ■ J - Ps^ssing. Dolly became frightened at 
j -"-^ I the noise and jumped toward me. Stella, 
^H— ....— M^ who was walking by my side, was thrown 
to the ground and barely escaped being run over 
by the wheel. As it was, she was covered with 
black grease from head to foot, and was bruised 
by the fall. 

We crossed the Susquehanna River between 
Havre de Grace and Perryville. Dolly was almost 
overcome with heat and we had to stop in the woods 
and camp for the night. I rubbed her down and 
blanketed her, but she refused to eat her supper 
until very late. We made only fifteen miles that 
day, as it was impossible to walk far in the sun. 

In Elkton the inhabitants were afraid to come 
to their doors. They peeked out at us from be- 
hind screens. One lone man ventured up to the 
cart without a body-guard. He asked a few ques- 
tions, and then a straggler or two came along. 
An old, long-whiskered veteran asked me who we 
were and what we were doing, and each time that 
I replied, he stroked his scattered beard and 
said, "Eh-hey." 

—128— 



Just before our departure, a man asked if he 
might put one of his cards on our cart. I replied : 

"Certainly. I should like to have a card of 
one of the deadest towns that I ever saw." 

He seemed to take exception to the remark, 
and just as he was about to say something, I con- 
tinued : 

"What's become of the horse-shoe pegs that 
used to be out there in the street?" 

At this, he flushed up and said: 

"We hain't never had no horse-shoe pegs in 
the street." 

"Well, then, what do you people do for 
amusement, anyway", I said. "Just sit around 
and look at one another?" 

Then he collected his wits and replied: 

"Oh, we just sit around and watch for such 
as you to come through." 

Down in front of the postoffice, a man in- 
quired : 

"Do you ever feed the horse?" looking all 
the time at a large bag of grain strapped on top of 
the cart. I replied: 

"No, mister, we never feed the horse, we just 
let her run around loose at the mercy of the public." 

"Well, what's that you've got up there? 
if it ain't feed, what is it?" he said. 

"Oh, that's just a bag of fertilizer that we 
picked up down the road, to make us strong,"! 
answered. 

He grunted and walked away, and a bystander 
began to laugh, saying: 

"You fellows, can't you see he's just kiddin' 
ye?" 

All through this section of the country the 
roads are piked and fenced off, which makes it 
hard to find natural camping spots. Beautiful 

—129— 



places there are, but they are just over the wire 
fence. 

The evening before we arrived at Wilmington, 
Delaware, we passed an orchard of cherry trees, 
full of luscious fruit. I went to the house and asked 
the gentleman who came to the door if he owned 
the cherries across the road. He replied that he 
did and told me to help myself. When I asked 
if he had a place where we could camp for the 
night, he answered courteously that he had, and 
showed me a fine, grassy pasture, only a short dis- 
tance from the residence. There was no stock in 
the pasture except an old horse, twenty-five years 
old. The owner said that the horse would not 
bother us as it was blind in one eye and so stiff 
that it couldn't run. That night we were awaken- 
ed by something running at full speed toward the 
tent, snorting and puffing, and the next thing our 
tent was torn from top to bottom. The horse had 
run into the ropes. The next morning we mended 
the tent as best we could and made it do until we 
could get another one. 

At Wilmington we were the guests of Eastern 
people who had lived in California for some time. 
They had absorbed much of the whole-souled West- 
ern spirit, and our visit with them was a delightful 
one. 

It was now the very hottest summer weather. 
We started on our walk very early in the mornings, 
but by nine thirty o 'clock it became so intensely hot 
that the sun was unbearable. We were forced to 
rest in the middle of the day and walk from five 
to ten A. M. and from three to seven P. M. Just 
before reaching Philadelphia, we experienced the 
worst heat. 

The residents of Philadelphia were rather 
more conservative than those of the majority of 

—130— 



the cities which we visited, but when they^ became 
interested in us, they proved to be very friendly 
and liberal-minded. 

We spent many hours in the renowned old 
Independence Hall, looking through the rooms 
and seeing the relics of early days. A photo- 
graph of us was taken in front of the building. It 
showed the horse and cart and a large crowd of 
spectators. 

Camden was the first city in New Jersey that 
we visited. The state holds the record for mos- 
quitoes, not excepting Southeastern Texas, nor 
Louisiana. Near New Brunswick we were com- 
pelled to pack up our belongings and walk through 
the night to keep from being devoured by the pests. 
Dolly and Don were frantic. Dolly rolled and 
pawed the air so that there was danger of her 
breaking away. 

In the vicinity of Newark, a big New Found- 
land dog jumped at Don, and the strange dog's 
master, who was looking on, did nothing to prevent 
it. I used my stick to drive the Newfoundland 
away, and his master then sicced him on me. My 
hands were full, when Stella called out to the man 
that if he didn't take his dog off she would shoot 
it. At that the old man called the big animal off 
at once. Don is very peaceable and never molests 
another canine, as we have always endeavored to 
avoid trouble of that kind. We therefore feel per- 
fectly justified in defending Don. Newark is be- 
hind the times in some respects. At any rate it 
has its limitations — and its cranks. We had an 
altercation with a humane officer before we could 
persuade him that Dolly was well treated and well 
fed. The proprietor of the restaurant where we 
took our meals while in the city was a peculiar 
character. He was a Dutchman, and in ordinary 

— LSI— 



conversation was so excitable that he seemed to 
be angry, but on inquiry we learned that it was 
only his way of being agreeable. 

Just as we were leaving Newark, a man who 
was driving a pie wagon hailed us. We stopped, 
and he came running toward us with a huge 
blackberry pie in his hand, saying: 

"I have heard a great deal about you, and the 
long trip you are taking, and I want to give you 
this pie in token of my appreciation of your nerve 
and pluck. It takes westerners to do such things. 
Just fancy Eastern women taking off their high heels 
and false hair, and putting on such clothes as your 
wife wears, and doing a stunt like this. Well, they 
just couldn't if they wanted to; they've been 
brought up too much in doors." 

Our treatment by the members of the Elks' 
Club in Newark and elsewhere was all that could 
be desired. We carried the cards advertising the 
yearly reunion of the Elks until the sun and the 
rain, beating upon the cart, obliterated the print- 
ing. 

On July 19th, 1911, not quite a year from the 
date upon which we ended our two thousand mile 
walk from Kansas City to New York, we again 
entered the Metropolis, crossing the Hudson river 
at the twenty-third Street ferry from Jersey City. 
After a visit with the New York World, we walked 
across the Brooklyn Bridge and obtained accom- 
modations where we had stayed during our previous 
visit to the city. 

At the livery barn where Dolly and Don had 
been kept for a month on the former trip, Dolly 
turned and made her way to the incline which 
led to the stalls above. Don capered about and 
barked, smelling everything, and showing very 
plainly that he remembered the place. The dog 

—132— 



refused to go to our room with us. He went back 
to the barn and could not be persuaded to leave 
the cart. 

We remained in New York only a few days, as 
we were anxious to see new territory. Leaving 
Brooklyn, we walked out Atlantic Avenue, pass- 
ing through that portion of the city in which there 
is a large foreign population. There were thous- 
ands of poor, dirty children, whose only play- 
ground were the streets. The little ones appeared 
underfed, and were badly clothed, and through 
their filth hardly looked human. It was impossi- 
ble to get a good picture of the mob that followed 
us, for the strange people did not keep quiet long 
enough to be photographed. 

Our tent was pitched in the evening at Rich- 
mond Hill, a suburb. Visitors swarmed around 
us until a late hour, and we finally had to ex- 
cuse ourselves and bid them goodnight. 

The next morning, I arose early and was out- 
side the tent preparing breakfast, when a young 
woman caller arrived. She approached me, say- 
ing: 

"Oh, I would like to make just such a trip! 
I would like to travel with you." 

I informed her that I had a wife inside the 
tent; that she was a great big woman. At that 
the young lady said: 

"Oh! have you? I guess I'd better go now." 

At Freeport, Long Island, I delivered a lecture 
in the Airdome Theatre, having Dolly and Don 
with the cart on exhibition there. 

The following night our camp was pitched 
close to Oyster Bay. Our object in going by way 
of Oyster Bay was to see Colonel Roosevelt, as 
we had made an appointment with him through 
his secretary in New York. 

—133— 



At Sagamore Hill, the former president greeted 
us with hearty handshakes and a smile. He seem- 
ed to be greatly interested in our undertaking, and 
highly complimented Stella for what she had done. 
He wanted to know what all the cards were for on 
the cart, and asked a number of other questions. 

Inquiring about our parentage, and being 
informed that we were of English and German 
stock, he said: 

"That's good stock, both of them; that's what 
it takes to make success in life." 

As we passed Centreport, Long Island, two 
gentlemen hailed us from the door of a country 
hotel, inviting us to stop and have refreshments. 
We became acquainted with some of the finest peo- 
ple whom it has ever been our good fortune to 
meet, and were entertained with music by an ex- 
cellent orchestra that played both classical and 
popular selections, and by a lady comedian of well 
known theatrical fame. It was a gala night— one 
long to be remembered. 

At Northport and other places our reception 
was all that could be desired. Reaching Port 
Jefferson at nine o'clock, we put up for the night, 
and crossed Long Island Sound to Bridgeport, 
Connecticut, the next morning. On Long Island 
we saw the most magnificent homes that we have 
ever seen anywhere. It seemed that every house 
was a mansion. Many of them belonged to mil- 
lionaires. The grounds and buildings where aero- 
planes are constructed were of great interest. 

The trip across Long Island Sound was a most 
delightful one. It was a clear day and we could 
see in the distance the shore of Connecticut from 
the time that the boat left Port Jefferson. 

In Bridgeport we were subjected to several 
impertinent remarks, but managed to keep even 

—134— 



with those who challenged us. The Superintendent 
of Police gave us a personal letter to the Chief of 
Police of Kansas City. 

All the way to New Haven, we walked close 
to the shore of Long Island Sound. There were 
many summer resorts along the route, a number 
of which we visited. 

Connecticut is a "blue law" state, and we soon 
discovered that some of its cities are still managed 
— or governed — according to ideas that were sup- 
posed to be right hundreds of years ago. New 
Haven was friendly, but Hartford and Meriden 
were controlled by officials who were narrow-mind- 
ed and prejudiced against anything like an inno- 
vation. The Mayor of Hartford was the kind of 
a man who looked at everything from his own re- 
stricted point of view, and his views evidently 
dated back to the times when the blue laws were 
framed. One could not help thinking what a 
conspicuous figure he would have made in the days of 
witchcraft, when superstition ran riot and public 
officials openly employed their power to further 
their own selfish ends, using the ignorance of the 
people as a cloak to cover their misdeeds; when 
every stranger was regarded with suspicion; but 
now when the masses of the people have reached a 
high degree of intelligence — even in the blue law 
states — such narrowness as that exhibited by the 
Mayor of Hartford and his subordinates is com- 
mented on and rebuked by the press. 

After we left the city, the Hartford Daily 
Courant — August 15, 1911 — published the follow- 
ing, under the heading: "HAVE WALKED 
6,000 MILES TO FIND IT OUT. COULDN'T 
GET PERMIT TO SELL POST CARDS ON 
MAIN STREET. CITY BLACKLISTED IN 
"TRAMPING AND CAMPING." 

D. H. Woolf and his wife have not as high an 

— 135— 



opinion of Hartford as they had when they got 
into town Sunday. They are taking a little walk 
from Kansas City to Boston, a matter of more than 
6,000 miles by the route they are going. They are 
walking for their health, and making their living 
on the way by selling postal cards, bearing pictures 
of themselves and their camping outfit. They 
wanted to get a permit to sell these cards on the 
street from a little wagon which carries their bag- 
gage. Chief of Police William F. Gunn would not 
give the permit for any place except Windsor and 
Village streets. They did not find the class of people 
there they cared to cater to, and asked for permission 
to sell the cards on Main Street, and were turned 
down. They appealed, or rather Mr. Woolf did, 
to Mayor Edward L. Smith, and he declined to 
over-rule Chief Gunn, consequently, Mr. Woolf 
said they would say goodbye to Hartford. 

Mr. Woolf, a clean-cut, plain-spoken young 
man, had a long talk with the mayor in an effort to 
make his share of traveling expenses in Hartford. 
He is a musician, and was an orchestra leader in 
his home city, Kansas City, until his health failed, 
and he became a nervous wreck. The doctor told 
him that the only cure was open air, and lots of it. 
That, at first, did not seem an easy prescription to 
fill, until Mrs. Woolf suggested walking, and they 
have been walking ever since, a matter of two years. 
Mr. Woolf is regaining his health and expects when 
his walking is done, to be in better physical con- 
dition than he ever was before. ***=!=** 
Eventually they (Mr. and Mrs. Woolf) will write 
a book entitled 'Tramping and Camping.' In 
this book they will describe the country as they 
found it. ************ 

The outfit consists of Dolly, the horse, and 
Don, their dog. The Woolfs carry their tents and 
cooking utensils with them, and always sleep in the 

—136— 




2 "S 



« o 



open, seldom stopping at hotels. They are dressed 
in khaki, and their clothes are made for walking. 
Last summer they walked from Kansas City to the 
Atlantic Coast, and returned by train. They 
started their 8,000 mile jaunt on October 15th, last 
year, and went through the states of Kansas, Okla- 
homa, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, 
Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, 
Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, 
and New York, stopping at Sagamore Hill, Oyster 
Bay, long enough to get an opportunity to shake 
hands with Colonel Roosevelt. * * * * * " 

We now began to see a great many foreigners. 
The population of some towns was composed 
almost entirely of foreigners. They are brought 
to America to do factory work in the East, as their 
labor is cheap. 

It seemed to us that the states of Connecticut 
and Massachusetts would better revise their blue 
laws and give their own countrymen a chance to 
earn an honest living, and ship these aliens back' 
to their own countries, or hustle them out of the 
cities and put them on some of the vacant land 
scattered around over the United States. Then 
there might be an opportunity to make American 
citizens of them. As long as they are huddled to- 
gether, eight or ten in one squalid room, living 
like dogs, there is little hope of their becoming civ- 
ilized. In the East, foreigners are doing the work 
and native born citizens are becoming street loafers. 

But there is one thing that we must give the 
blue law states credit for, and that is good roads. 
The roads could not be excelled in any locality, as 
they are like boulevards. 

Springfield proved to be very unlike Hartford 
and Meriden, and our stay was an exceedingly 
pleasant one. Just out of Springfield, we met a 
man on a motor cycle, who had made a cross country 

— 137— 



ride from San l rancisco to New York. It seems 
that he had taken the trip several times by different 
routes. He showed the effects of out door life, as 
he had a very ruddy complexion and a stalwart 
form. 

Near Sudbury, Massachusetts, we visited the 
old Wayside Inn, made famous by Longfellow's 
poem. For a great many years the building was 
unoccupied and the grounds were grown up with 
weeds. Finally someone conceived the idea of 
purchasing the place and restoring it to its former 
condition. The main part of the building remains 
the same as in the days of Longfellow, except that 
it has been painted and repaired. An addition 
was built for the accommodation of guests. We 
were shown through the old house and everything 
of interest was pointed out to us and explained. 
The old bar-room, in the front of the house, is long 
and narrow with a low ceiling. The kitchen and 
big fireplace are just the same as in the early days. 
On the wall is a pine board, into which the cork 
puller was screwed, and the board showed the fre- 
quent usage, as it was perforated with numer- 
ous holes. Everything in the house is of the antique 
style. The large, old-fashioned four pillared bed- 
steads nearly fill the little bedrooms. We were 
shown the room where Longfellow used to sleep, 
and also the apartment occupied by La Fayette, 
and the little alcove adjoining, which was the place 
allotted to his valet. 

The grounds are kept in nice condition, and 
the Inn is well patronized by a wealthy class of 
people from Boston and the surrounding cities. 

Probably if Longfellow could return he would 
hardly recognize some parts of the building with 
its modern improvements. Where the stables used 
to be, there is now a fine garage. Over the door 
of the inn, there is an old red sign with a horse 

—138— 



painted on it, and the words: "The Red Horse 
Tavern." 

On the pike, just before we arrived in Boston, 
a leading merchant of that city interviewed us. 
Later, we saw him again, at Syracuse, New York, 
where he had just come down from a trip in a flying 
machine. He said that he was seventy years of 
age, but it seemed to us that he was far more pro- 
gressive than many younger persons. 

On August 23rd, we reached Boston. The 
Boston Globe described the first occurrence after 
our arrival as follows: 

"They (referring to us) are full of reminiscences 
of their trip, but probably no more humorous in- 
cident happened during all their journey than right 
here in Boston, after they had been in the city less 
than thirty minutes. After visiting the Globe 
and being requested to prevent the congestion of 
travel as much as possible, Mr. and Mrs. Woolf and 
their outfit proceeded to Broad Street, where Mr. 
Woolf made a call. 

While in the Broad Street building they looked 
out of the window and saw a stranger sitting upon 
the box and driving Dolly away. It was one of 
the few times a human being had sat upon the 
vehicle and Dolly did not know just what to make 
of it. The stranger proved to be a thoroughly 
happy 'souse' who conceived the idea of doing 
some tramping and hiking on his own hook. 

But he only got a little way, for when Mr. and 
Mrs. Woolf rushed from the building they found 
that a policeman of Division Two had already 
intercepted the cart and the driver. The latter 
was walked to a stable on Custom House Street 
where the patrol wagon of Division Two is housed, 
and without more ado, the inebriated person was 
taken to the Court Square police station." 

Boston was our Eastern destination, and the 

—139— 



turning point for home. We had intended to 
spend some time in the city, but a rain set in and 
most of the three days we were there was spent in 
doors. However, we managed to see several points 
of interest, among them Faneuil Hall and the Old 
State House. Many of the students at Harvard 
College congratulated us on the success of our long 
trip. Along the roadsides, all over Massachusetts, 
were places marked by inscriptions, giving dates 
and incidents of Revolutionary days. 

The roads were rough going from Boston to 
Lowell, Athol, Fitchburg and Greenfield. Then 
we entered the Berkshire Hills. The Hoosac Moun- 
tain was a very high hill, through which the rail- 
road tunnels, but the wagon road goes over the 
top of it. Getting up this long, steep hill was hard 
for Dolly. We had to stop every few feet and put 
a stone under the wheel to keep the cart from 
slipping back, while Dolly was resting. It required 
a whole day to climb the mountain. When we 
reached the summit, we took a picture of the scen- 
ery, which was fine. There were hills in every di- 
rection, and the river looked like a ribbon of silver. 

We pitched our tent upon the top of the moun- 
tain, and the heavy dew and the cold air made us 
think of winter days, although it was only the latter 
part of August. 

The next morning we walked down the moun- 
tain side and entered the manufacturing town of 
North Adams, Massachusetts. In this state we 
noticed that the houses, barns and all out-buildings 
are usually placed in a long row. Probably they 
are connected by inside doors. It must be that 
the winters are very cold, and farmers are thus 
saved from exposure during storms, when they do 
their chores and feed stock. There is a great con- 
trast between the barns of the North and those of 
the far South. In the South we saw nothing except 

—140— 



tumble-down sheds with poles over the tops and 
roofs made of straw. 

The day that we left North Adams, we were in 
three states, Massachusetts, Vermont and New 
York. Our luncheon was eaten directly on the 
state line between Vermont and New York. 

A man to whom we spoke of having been in 
three states that day said: 

"That's nothing! a walker went through here 
a few days ago and beat you one state." 

"What state was that?" I asked. 

He replied: 

"The state of intoxication." 

On the main automobile road of New York 
we passed through Troy, Albany, Schenectady, 
Amsterdam, Utica, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, 
and along Lake Erie through Fredonia and West- 
field. 

One night, while camping near Utica, we were 
awakened by a ray of light from a lantern, and a 
voice that said: 

"Say, in there, come out! I want to talk to 
you about raising the Maine. I've got a scheme to 
raise the Maine, and it won't cost the government 
hardly anything, but I can't get them to give me 
the job." 

Not knowing what to think of being accosted 
in that manner, especially at such an hour of the 
night, we arose and talked to the old man, whom 
we found to be a harmless creature, just a little bit 
off on the subject of raising the Maine. He said 
that he lived up the road a short distance, at a 
planing mill, and he hoped that we wouldn't get 
up in the night and carry it away. We assured 
him that we didn't need a planing mill, and that 
some time he would be able to convince the govern- 
ment that he was the proper man to raise the Maine, 
and finally, he took his departure. 

—141— 



In Rochester, the famous pedestrian, Mr. 
Weston, was introduced to us. It was his cross 
country walk in 1909, that gave us the idea of going 
on foot to the Ozark Mountains. Many people, 
all over the United States, owe their restored 
health to the example set by Mr. Weston. 

On our former trip through Rochester, a young 
man accompanied us out of the city and walked 
the rest of the day. He camped and ate supper 
with us and then walked back to the city. We 
again had the pleasure of his company. This 
time he went twenty-five miles with us, and he 
seemed to enjoy the hike, telling us, upon leaving, 
that he was none the worse for the unwonted exer- 
cise. 

From Buffalo, the Lake Shore Road is lined 
for many miles with beautiful country homes. The 
immense expanse of blue water was indeed a grand 
sight, but the cold wind blowing from it was not 
very comfortable unless we kept up a brisk pace. 

We were now in the grape growing regions, 
and a lady whom we had seen before on our first 
journey to the East loaded us down with the lus- 
cious fruit. 

At Erie I asked a lady for permission to camp 
upon her property. She replied: 

"Certainly, Mr. Woolf. Just go over there in 
the orchard and camp where you did before." 

At this, I gave her another look, and saw to 
my surprise that she was the lady with whom we 
had camped before. She had recognized us im- 
mediately. 

We felt that each day must be made to count 
on the homeward journey, but it rained constantly 
for a week and there were many delays. The 
route took us through Ohio — the cities of Ashta- 
bula and Cleveland, thence south to Columbus and 
Dayton. 

—142— 



In Ohio weovertook a family that wasValking 
from New York to Texas, to take up government 
land. The father was in ill health, and the plucky 
little wife and five children were faithful compan- 
ions on the long and tedious journey. They had 
started with a push cart, the father pushing the 
youngest three children in the cart, which also con- 
tained the tent and camping outfit. After a few 
miles, the father could stand the strain no longer, 
and was almost in a nervous collapse, so they decided 
to get a horse and wagon and let the little ones 
ride. It had required a great amount of energy 
for these people from the congested city of New 
York to make such an effort to restore their wasted 
health by out of door living. 

In Springfield we met another pedestrian — a 
young Yankee walking from Maine to California. 
He was a genial, jolly fellow, and we spent many 
a day laughing and joking. Our paths separated 
at Terre Haute, Indiana, but one day after we had 
reached home, what was our surprise when the 
young man knocked at our door. We had a pleas- 
ant visit with him. 

Don got lost in Indianapolis. We went into 
a restaurant, and he had not seen us enter the build- 
ing. Stella and I hunted all of the morning for the 
dog. We also notified the police and requested 
that messenger boys be instructed to keep on the 
lookout. 

We had become discouraged, when Stella hap- 
pened to go over to a large monument called "The 
Circle." All at once something bumped against 
her almost taking her off her feet. It was Don, 
who was so over-joyed at finding her that he was 
nearly crazy. 

Just before we got to East St. Louis, we came 
to a German tavern, where we decided to take din- 
ner. The hostess informed us that she would serve 

— 143— 



US something, but she had not much left, as dinner 
was over. Her price for the meal was twenty-five 
cents. 

Of course, we did not expect much, and when 
she entered the dining-room with a large bowl of 
delicious vegetable soup ; then followed with three 
big platters of different kinds of meats; with sweet 
and Irish potatoes, pickles, preserves, cake, pie, 
and last of all, but not by any means least, a big pot 
of coffee, we could not conceal our surprise. She 
retired to the kitchen, leaving us to help ourselves. 
Stella looked pleased and happy as she surveyed 
the table. It is needless to say that we did justice 
to the meal, as there is nothing like walking to 
give one a good appetite. 

Stopping only a day in St. Louis, we resumed 
our way across the state of Missouri. At St. 
Charles a storm overtook us. The weather turned 
cold suddenly, and the next day we faced a bitter 
wind with snow and sleet under our feet. The 
entire trip through Missouri was attended by rain 
and bad weather. We put on our rubber coats, 
and just plodded along. 

On November 30th, Thanksgiving Day, we 
entered our home town and were met at the city 
limits by an escort of mounted police and news- 
paper reporters. We delivered a letter from Mr. 
Eugene Birmingham, Chief of Police at Bridge- 
port, Connecticut, to Chief Griffin, at the City Hall, 
Kansas City, and were complimented on the success 
ful termination of our long journey around half of 
the United States. 

When this official duty was over, we were 
photographed many times by various local news- 
paper photographers, then, walking across the 
Inter-city Viaduct, reached our home at 1 :30 P. M. 
where our parents welcomed us with a fine turkey 
dinner to which we did full justice. 



-144— 



12 



A\ 



